Gambler Don't Come Cheap
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart Maverick should know better than to do a favor for a friend. Especially when the friend is Dandy Jim Buckley. It could only lead to pain, trouble, and a beautiful woman.
1. Dandy Jim and the Contract

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 1 – Dandy Jim and the Contract

How did he get into these things? That was the question on his mind as he sat at the table, waiting for the one card he asked for from the dealer. By now he should know better than to agree to do a favor for Dandy Jim Buckley, even one that was going to pay as well as this one.

The biggest drawback, of course, was that he had to travel to Cheyenne, Wyoming to keep the promise and fulfill the contract. And that he had to live through the game he was currently playing in order to get there.

The dealer finally gave him the card he'd asked for. Two of clubs. That finished the little straight he was working on. He watched the cowboy he was playing against and knew he had the hand won. There was just a slight raise to the man's eyebrows – a sure sign that he hadn't gotten the cards he wanted. "Fifty." That was a cheap bluff on his opponent's part.

"I'll see your fifty and raise a hundred," Bart came back with. He expected no further challenge for the pot and he got none.

"Fold." The cowboy threw his cards down, disgusted both with them and himself. "Thought you were havin' a run a bad luck," he told Bart, looking across the table.

"I was," replied the gambler, as he raked in the small pot. "Maybe that's changed."

"Huh, if you was dealin' the cards I'd a thought you was cheatin'."

Bart looked across to the cowboy and smiled. "As my old pappy used to say, '"Son, the best time to get lucky is when the other man's dealin'." He picked his money up off the table and put it in his wallet, then stood up and pushed his chair back. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, but I have a stagecoach to catch."

He picked his suitcase up off the floor next to him and walked outside, then across the 'street' to the stage, which was just beginning to load. He threw the case up to the driver and climbed in. It wouldn't be a long trip; he was already in Boulder. Nobody interesting looking joined him; a younger, eastern born-and-bred man, obviously some kind of salesman, and a rancher, just a few years older than Bart. Good, he could probably catch up on his sleep. He hadn't been doing a lot of that lately, he spent most of his time drinking coffee and playing cards. Rather, he spent most of his time drinking coffee and losing at cards.

The streak had started almost three weeks ago, right after Sally Jo Wakefield finally believed him when he told her he wasn't the marrying kind of man. At first poker was off and on; winning more than he lost, but slowly the pendulum started to swing the other way and he was losing more than he won. Then he was just losing.

That's why the telegram from Buckley had been received so warmly. Dandy had agreed to either play or provide a substitute of equal skill to play a high-stakes game in Cheyenne in three weeks. The contract was a lump sum payment of five thousand dollars upfront and twenty-five percent of the total winnings. Some of the richest men in the territory were already committed to the game; Bart tried to get into the game himself and not even his friend Anderson Garret could wangle him a spot. He had no idea who Buckley was contracted to – just that there would be a hotel room waiting for him when he got to Cheyenne. Considering the way the cards had been falling for him lately, he would be happy to play on somebody else's front money.

Who in their right mind would hire Buckley to play poker for them? The Englishman was a good enough player when he put his mind to it, but his head was usually too full of get-rich-quick schemes to concentrate long enough on the cards. And what was so important that it would keep Buckley from honoring the contract?

Buckley's loss had been his gain. His poker game had been better, he would be the first to admit, but every gambler had those runs, and this one had been no different than some he'd had in the past. It just seemed to be lasting a little longer. His wallet was practically empty; he finally had to break the thousand dollar bill he kept pinned to the lining of his coat just to keep eating. But he'd been at that particular poker table in Boulder for a good eight hours and he was up over four hundred dollars. Maybe the losing was over.

He looked out the window of the coach and realized it was getting dark. They should be at the transfer station soon, just in time for supper. One more long night of riding; he could probably sleep when it was dark and his belly was full. Otherwise it was going to be a very long and tiresome night.

XXXXXXXX

Jim Buckley and Francine Westcott were just about to go to dinner when he got the telegram from Maverick acknowledging that he would assume Buckley's contract for the Cheyenne poker game. Good, he wouldn't have to look for anyone else. Bart was his first choice to take his spot – he had a reputation to protect, after all. He didn't bother to tell Bart who he was going to be playing for or what the consequences what be if he lost. Bart was a top-notch poker player – about the only one that could beat him was his brother Bret, and he was in Abilene, currently incarcerated in the local jail on some trumped up charge.

"Well, my dear, we're in the clear. No need to rush off to Cheyenne and leave this delightful weather." Buckley offered his arm to Francine and she took it.

"Darling, did you tell your proxy ALl of the conditions to the game? Forewarn him, so to speak?"

Buckley laughed as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Francine, why would I do that? He might not have accepted the offer!"

"Isn't he some sort of friend of yours?" Francine asked.

"Maverick? Well, I suppose so. Certainly Bart more than his brother. It depends on just what I'm working on as to whether you can call him a friend. He doesn't always agree with some of my . . . . ahem . . . . . investment strategies. But we have worked on a few projects together. Quite bright, actually . . . .for a Texan. Yes, hmmmmm . . . . . . where was I?"

"Right here, darling, with me. You're right here."

"Yes. Yes I am. And Bart is not." He thought about Bart for just a second. "He's on his way to Cheyenne instead of me. Francine, did I ever tell you about the time . . . . . . . " Buckley's voice faded as he and Francine walked down the corridor to the dining room.


	2. A High Price to Pay

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 2 – A High Price to Pay

Cheyenne couldn't come quick enough. Sleeping on the stage was only one step above sleeping on the ground, and a small step at that. So he was more than happy when the stage pulled into town and he was able to check into the hotel. Dandy Jim had said a room was reserved for him – he didn't say a 'suite'. He tipped the bellboy and took off his coat, hanging it carefully across a chair. Just as he was about to lay down on the bed, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Maverick? Message for you."

By virtue of habit he opened the door with his gun drawn. The poor clerk took one look at the revolver and stepped back, almost dropping the written message in his hand. "Sorry, habit," Bart explained as he took the note from the man. _'Now, let's try this again,'_ he thought as he unbuttoned his vest and untied his tie, then laid down on the bed before opening the piece of paper. Inside he found the following _: 'Mr. Maverick – I understand you are the man here to fulfill the contract between James David Buckley and my father, Arthur Ridgeway. If this is correct, please meet me in the hotel dining room at 3 p.m. today. I must speak to you on a matter most urgent. I will be wearing a blue flowered dress. If you are not the correct man, I beg your indulgence. Thank you, Millie Ridgeway.'_

So Buckley's contract was with Arthur Ridgeway, the biggest railroad man left in Wyoming. There was more to this than just a poker game. And if he met Millie Ridgeway at three o'clock he might be able to find out. He pulled his pocket watch out of his vest and looked at it. Almost one o'clock. So much for going to sleep.

He got back up off the bed and unpacked, then washed up and shaved. After that he changed into fresh clothes and wandered down to the hotel lobby. The place was busy for the middle of the afternoon and he picked up a copy of the 'Cheyenne Gazette' and found a seat. By the time he finished reading the paper it was almost time to meet Millie Ridgeway. He'd also discovered that her father was the head of the committee to explore statehood for the Wyoming Territory and sat on the board of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association. Quite a busy man, it seemed. What could his daughter possibly want with a contracted gambler?

Putting down the paper, he wandered into the dining room and spotted his note writer almost immediately. She was certainly a beauty. Light brown hair with golden streaks through it, big violet eyes set off by the blue dress, she saw him and didn't hesitate to stand and offer her hand. She was warm and friendly and her eyes lit up when she looked at you. Her hands were soft and her voice almost melodic. He was enchanted.

"Mr. Maverick, I presume? I'm Millie Ridgeway, Arthur Ridgeway's daughter. You've assumed Mr. Buckley's contract to represent my father in this poker game, I believe?"

"I have, Miss Ridgeway, and please call me Bart. If you don't mind my asking, what's a man of your father's reputation doing 'hiring' a poker player for a card game?"

"All in good time, Bart, and please, I'm Millie. Would you like something to drink?" She signaled the waiter over and Bart told him "coffee, please," before turning his attention back to the girl.

"You could have something stronger, Bart. The dining room stocks a full bar."

He smiled at her. "I don't drink, Millie."

She looked surprised. "I thought all gamblers . . . . . . " she trailed off and didn't finish her sentence.

"That's the quandary, Millie. I'm not a gambler."

Now she looked positively confused. "I don't understand. I thought you were here in Mr. Buckley's place."

He raised an eyebrow. "That I am."

"But then – "

"Unlike Dandy Jim Buckley, I don't gamble. My pap – father – taught us to play the sweet science known as poker. It's not gambling when performed correctly. It takes skill, and nerve, and determination. And a keen sense of observation. And you retain none of those when you drink. Thus, no drinking."

"I see," she observed. "Then it would seem Mr. Buckley has sent the right man in his stead."

"Again, I must ask, why hire a poker player?"

"Because the man that thinks he owns the town of Cheyenne is determined to drive my father out of Wyoming at all costs, and he's quite a gambler with a lot of money."

"I take it this game is a lot more than just a game?" It didn't take much to determine that.

"Yes. The loser has agreed to leave Cheyenne."

"Permanently?"

"Yes. That's why it's so important that you win."

"By whatever means necessary?" If that's what Ridgeway expected than Bart was having none of it, no matter how much it was worth. He wasn't that kind of man and Buckley knew it.

"No, Bart. My father expects an honest game. He's hoping that the man Jim Buckley sent in his place is good enough to know if it's not."

He was silent for a moment, drinking coffee to give him sufficient time to think this whole thing over. There had to be something he didn't yet see. The question remained – if this was just a straight forward poker game, why did Buckley avoid such easy money?

"Who's playing?"

Millie Ridgeway still hadn't revealed the reason for this meeting, other than to pass along insight. "Seth Johnson. He's my father's nemesis. Brilliant, ruthless man. Wants no part of anything that doesn't involve cattle. He thinks Wyoming should remain a territory because the laws aren't as stringent as federal statutes would be. He believes Cheyenne is his to control and is the main opposition to my father."

She took a breath, in anticipation of the information yet to be revealed. "Then there's Andrew Watson. Johnson's chief ally in the disagreement. He's a follower rather than a leader, and he's picked the wrong man to follow."

"None on your father's side?" Bart asked.

"I'm getting there. Jasper Finley. His parents were farmers. He made his money selling their land to the Union Pacific Railroad, but he wants the territory to remain open to everyone. That includes the Indians. Jasper has known my father since I was a little girl and supports him unequivocally – he wanted into this poker game desperately just so Dad would have backing. The last man is Morgan Edwards. He's the man who supports whichever side is winning. Right now he's on no one's side. Whichever way the wind blows, that's where Morgan Edwards is. I have no idea how good a poker player he is."

"You still haven't given me a reason for Buckley's participation," Bart reminded her.

She laughed slightly and blushed. "It's my fault, I'm afraid. I'm the poker player in the family, not my father. When this game was first proposed, I had every intention of playing for his interests. Of course, the _gentlemen_ in the group wouldn't allow a woman to participate. So he persuaded them to allow proxy play. Dandy Jim's name came up because he was in Denver at the time, and he was willing to play for the Ridgeways. For a monetary consideration, of course."

Bart thought about Buckley. "Of course. Pretty sweet deal your father got talked into. For Dandy, that is."

"Daddy had to make it worthwhile or there was no deal. Five thousand dollars is a pittance of what could be made in this game."

"And your father gave Buckley the option of finding an acceptable substitute?"

She nodded. "That was the only condition he attached to the agreement."

Bart had been suspicious of Dandy's reasons for offering the lucrative opportunity to him to begin with; now he was even more wary. So far he hadn't seen the downside, and there had to be one or Buckley would be here himself.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Millie?"

"Just this, Bart. My father's spent half his life trying to open up the Wyoming territory to everyone, and gain statehood in the process. Without winning in this poker game he has nothing left. If you lose it will kill him."


	3. The Average Man

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 3 – The Average Man

By the time he finally got back to his room to take that nap he was wide awake. What had Buckley gotten him into? A poker game that was much more than a poker game. a beautiful woman; a man whose very existence could be compromised unnecessarily; control of a town; a fight for statehood; and oh yeah, the aforementioned poker game.

Why had Millie Ridgeway come to him today? To beg for her father's life? To fill him in on his opponents? To see what kind of a man her father's champion was? That made him laugh; her father's champion was a self-centered, yellow-bellied card sharp. What was he missing?

He heard someone at his door but there was no knock, just a handwritten piece of paper slipped under the door frame. _'Poker Game tomorrow 5 p.m. Room 346. Be on time.'_ Well, at least he knew where and when. And now he had a better idea of who. He wondered if that was enough knowledge to make this game worthwhile. What had the Ridgeway girl said? _'Five thousand dollars is a pittance of what could be made in this game.'_

If that was true he needed to be on top of his game and, with the exception of the last hand played in Boulder, he wasn't. Sounded like a long night of poker was in order, to see if he could escape from this bad magic that someone laid on him. He put his coat back on and went downstairs to the place he'd just come from an hour ago – the dining room. Supper was being served and he ate an early meal, just enough to get him through the evening hours but not enough to put him to sleep. Then he wandered out onto the sidewalk to see what was available this early in the day. He lit a cigar and walked up the street, to the 'Lucky Lady' saloon. It was about half full and there was a game going – with an empty seat.

Four hours later he was feeling a little better about himself – his poker game, at least. He hadn't won every hand, but close to it. There was the caliber of poker player he was up against; but when you've been on a weeks long losing streak anything counts. The players at his table drifted away one by one and he was getting ready to go to another saloon when a voice behind him asked, "Bart Maverick?"

He looked up and saw an unfamiliar face. "That's what my brother calls me," he answered. "You have the advantage, Mr. . . . . .?"

"Edwards, Morgan Edwards." The man stuck his hand out. "Looks like you cleaned the table. Mind if I sit?"

Bart indicated the empty seat next to him. Edwards pulled out the chair and sat, then signaled the bartender. "Anything for you, Mr. Maverick?"

"Coffee," came the standard answer. "Bart, by the way. What can I do for you, Mr. Edwards?"

"Morgan, please." Four or five years older than Bart, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, Edwards reminded him of somebody, but he couldn't quite remember who. Every once in a while his memory had taken to playing tricks on him; it started right after he'd left Montana in August.

"I watched you play poker against Doc Holliday in Tombstone," Edwards told him. "Never saw anybody that could handle Doc like that."

Bart remembered the night. It wasn't the first time he'd played against Doc, but it was the night they'd fought all night to a standstill and emerged from the battle as friends. "That was a good night."

"I understand you've taken Jim Buckley's place in the game."

Bart nodded as he drank coffee. "That's right."

"Are you aware of what's riding on this game?" Morgan looked concerned; he took a long drink from his whiskey glass.

"Something besides money?" Bart asked casually.

Edwards almost spit. "You don't know?"

The gambler sat and watched Edwards. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Only the whole future of Wyoming," came back the quick answer.

"So?"

"So? Don't you care?"

That was an easy answer. "No."

"Where are you from, Bart?"

"Texas, Morgan. What has that got to do with – "

"Oh." Morgan Edwards finished his drink and signaled for another. "I would have though the south from your accent."

"South Texas," Bart answered. He'd spent too much time around Samantha Crawford and Anderson Garrett. "What difference does where I'm from make?"

"Why would you be interested in Wyoming politics?"

"I'm being paid a tidy sum to play poker, Morgan. That's the only thing that interests me."

"Uh huh. Is it really? The only thing?" Edwards started working on his second drink. "I saw you this afternoon with Millie Ridgeway."

"Just getting some background on the other players. I understand that includes you."

"Oh sure. I wouldn't miss this for the world. Who woulda thought I'd get to play against the man that beat Doc Holliday?"

"I didn't beat Doc, we played till the sun came up and went to breakfast."

Morgan snorted. "You beat him. I saw it with my own two eyes."

Bart wondered how many glasses of whiskey Edwards had to drink that night. Best let him remember whatever he wanted to remember. "This has been entertaining, Edwards, but I need to find another game. See you tomorrow." Before the man could protest Bart had gotten up and left the saloon. As he walked outside he lit a cigar and looked up and down the street. There was another saloon, 'Genevieve's Dance Hall', on the other side of the street and down about six buildings, and he walked over and down to the batwing doors. Noisier than the 'Lady' had been, there were several poker tables in use. Just as he was about to walk through the doors a hand grabbed him by the collar and ordered "Whoa there, tin horn." Since there was a gun muzzle in his back he paid attention to the command.

"I haven't been here long enough to make any enemies," Bart remarked, and the hand let go of his collar and laughed.

"Boss wants to see you, funny boy."

When Bart heard those words a chill went up his spine. That's just what Rusty Meyers called him right before the beating began in Montana years ago. He shuddered and waited for further instructions.

"On down the sidewalk, three doors down." Bart walked and the gun muzzle walked with him. The sign on the door said 'Seth Johnson, W.S.G.A.', and the door was unlocked. Bart walked in and was met by three thugs, never a good sign. Unexpectedly they stepped back to reveal a man in his fifties, sitting in a big overstuffed chair behind a mahogany desk. The desk reminded him of the one in Thurgood Schafer's office in New Mexico.

The man was average size, with a balding head and a mustache. His clothes were extremely expensive, his nails manicured. He was smoking a fine cigar. Everything in the office was first class and the best of its kind. And he looked like a very unhappy man.

He didn't stand, he sat in his chair and glared at Bart. "So you're Maverick," he growled.

"One of 'em," Bart answered. "Which one were you looking for?"

"You playing for Ridgeway?"

"That's what I've been told," was Bart's reply.

"What else did Buckley tell you?" The man was nothing but questions.

"Nothing," Bart answered honestly. He'd never spoken to Dandy Jim.

The man he assumed to be Seth Johnson gave a slight nod of his head and a thug grabbed him on either side. Bart looked from one to the other and gulped. He assumed something involving physical violence and pain was coming. Nothing happened; they just stood there holding onto him.

"You're going to lose," Johnson stated matter-of-factly.

"Not if I can help it," Bart responded.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha," the 'average' man laughed. "Yes, you are. You're a smart man. You're going to lose and live. Or win and die."


	4. Raymond Makes a Friend

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 4 – Raymond Makes a Friend

He readied himself for the blows that never came. The thugs let go of him and he dropped back down to the floor, surprised to find himself still in one piece. Seth Johnson observed the look on his face and smiled. "You're lucky this time, Maverick. If there's a next time, you won't be. Raymond, put him back where you found him."

The man with the gun pointed it at him again. "Come on, Maverick, let's go." Bart wasn't going to wait for Johnson to change his mind; he was out the door so fast he almost lost Raymond. They walked back up the sidewalk to the doors of the dance hall and Raymond put the gun away. "So long, funny boy." Raymond turned to walk away and then turned back. "You were real lucky, tin horn. The boss don't usually play nice. He must like you. Don't count on it happening again."

Bart rolled his shoulders and straightened his coat – and watched Raymond walk away. Any desire to play more poker was completely gone. He felt lucky that he wasn't bruised and battered and wasn't in the mood to push that luck any further.

He headed back to the hotel. He was tired again, and he needed to mull the whole what-Buckley-didn't-tell-me over in his head for a while. Now he knew why Dandy had been so eager to forgo a potentially outrageous payday. Lose and possibly cost an innocent man his life; win and lose your own.

Respite was elusive, but it finally came before sunrise. Sleep tonight was dreamless; he didn't know if that was good or bad. When he finally woke he was stiff from lying in one position, and his head hurt. He got up and dressed, still thinking about the situation he'd found himself in. He needed to speak with Millie Ridgeway, and then her father Arthur, and determine how much they actually knew about Seth Johnson. Before the poker game started tonight.

He went downstairs for coffee and was ordering breakfast when a face he recognized appeared in the doorway. He stood and pulled out a chair for Millie before he asked "Join me for a late breakfast?"

She shook her head and ordered tea. As soon as the waitress was gone she blurted out "Did you see Morgan Edwards last night?"

He chuckled and picked up his coffee cup. "What else did your spies tell you?"

She blushed and looked away. "You played poker against our ranch foreman last night. After the game he saw Morgan at the table. What did he want?"

Her curiosity amused him. "Afraid he was after my soul?"

Without looking back at him she answered. "Morgan and I were going to be married. Once upon a time."

That explained Edward's questions about his interest in Millie. "He asked a lot of questions that led nowhere. Did you hear about my other encounter?"

"No," she finally turned her head back in his direction. "Who was it with?"

"Seth Johnson."

She let out a little gasp and then looked concerned. "And you're walking around like nothing happened?"

"Nothing did happen. We had a pleasant little chat. Interesting man."

Millie looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "The last thing I would call him is interesting. I take it you met Raymond?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Raymond and I got acquainted."

"That's a strange way of putting it."

"Raymond is a strange man."

"What did Seth want?"

"To inquire after my health."

"What? What does that mean?" She wanted an explanation.

He set down his coffee and spread his hands. "Alright, cards on the table. What have I stumbled into? He told me if I win at poker I won't live to see my grandchildren."

Millie burst out laughing. "That's the Seth Johnson I know," she told him. "But I'm really shocked that the warning didn't come with a beating. That's more his style. You must have some really important friends to be treated with such respect."

"You mean it wasn't my charming personality?" He sounded offended.

"Maybe it was. I have no idea what motivates that man. Other than money."

He ate the last of his eggs and set his fork down. "Hmmm. Money. My old pappy used to say 'There's only one thing more important than money – that's more money'."

"Seth Johnson would agree with that wholeheartedly."

"What about your father?"

That was an easy answer for her. "No. My father believes in other things – family, friends, peace of mind. Happiness. Money falls way short of those."

"Mmmhmm. Good to know. How does he feel about staying alive?"

"What are you saying?"

He hesitated, wondering how she'd respond to his request. "I need to talk to your father."

"Before the game tonight?"

"Yep."

"I can arrange that. Where will you be?"

"Upstairs – room 219. Unless one of your other friends requires the pleasure of my company."

"They're not my friends." He believed her, just by the tone of her voice. "Bart?"

"Yes, Millie?"

"What are you going to do tonight?"

He set his napkin down on the plate. "I'm gonna play poker."

"To win or to lose?"

"That remains to be seen."


	5. The Right Choice

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 5 – The Right Choice

Bart had only been back in his room for a few minutes when there was a knock on the door. Once again he heard "Mr. Maverick. Message for you."

This time when he opened the door with gun drawn the clerk didn't flinch. 'You must know some really sketchy people."

"I do," he answered as he took the note and tipped the man. This one was written in the same script as the notice about the time and place of the game. 'Please come to 289 Perry Place. Offices of Wyoming Stock Growers Association. Mr. Jasper Finley." So now it was Arthur Ridgeway's turn to fire a shot across the bow. At least this was a much more pleasant invitation than the one Seth Johnson had extended. ' _No rest for the wicked,'_ he thought as he put his coat back on and adjusted the shoulder holster. He still wore the derringer; he'd finally gotten used to it. He left the gun belt lying on the bed. So much for a nap.

Perry Place was a block down from the hotel. The W.S.G.A. offices were bigger and better furnished than Seth Johnson's; and there was no Raymond standing guard at the door. There was a pretty young secretary sitting out front, and Bart flirted with her for a few minutes while he waited. Finally she led him down a long hallway and into Jasper Finley's office.

It was gigantic, rather like the man himself. He came bounding around the desk, his hand out in greeting. He was almost a head taller and fifty pounds heavier than Bart, and at least thirty years older. He had a full head of silver hair and a trim mustache and beard. Very distinguished looking, and a big smile on his face. He grasped Bart's hand and shook it, hard.

"Bart Maverick, Jasper Finley. Happy to meet you, son. You and I have a mutual friend, Anderson Garrett. Anderson speaks highly of you. Have a seat."

There were two big burgundy leather chairs in front of the polished oak desk. Jasper opened a humidor and offered a cigar. "Please, have a smoke."

Bart took one and lit a match, which he used on Jasper's cigar and then his own. "Anderson's a good man. Have you heard from him lately?"

"About two weeks ago. I wired him as soon as I heard you were going to play for Arthur. Garrett couldn't say enough good things about you. Of course I know what you did for him when Patrick and Stander made their land grab under the guise of the railroad. Brilliant work there, I must say. Arthur is quite lucky to have you representing his interests. Fortunate you were close enough when Buckley was detained."

"Yes, did Dandy Jim ever give Mr. Ridgeway a reason for backing out of the agreement?"

"Something about a family emergency in Savanna. Sounded like quite a mess. But he certainly did right by Arthur, getting you to step in for him. Frankly I think Arthur is better with you than Buckley, anyway."

A family emergency, eh? Buckley's family, what there was of them, was in England. The only one in Savanna was Francine Westcott, a 'friend' of Dandy's. Of the very wealthy female persuasion. Dandy's emergency was Francine.

"Anyway, I wanted to welcome you to Cheyenne before anyone else did, but I heard you've already been entertained by Seth Johnson. I'm surprised to see you walking around looking relatively unscathed. Seth is not a subtle sort of man."

"Neither is Raymond."

"Well . . . . . Raymond is Raymond. He takes orders from Seth quite literally. But you emerged in one piece. That may be a testament to your friendship with Anderson."

"And Doc Holliday," Bart added.

"Ah, the good Doctor, too? You really are connected, my dear boy."

"Mr. Finley, I don't think you asked me here to talk about my friends, pleasant as that may be. What can I do for you?"

"Please call me Jasper. No, you're right, I asked you here for a reason. A very specific reason."

The crux of the 'summons'. "And just what would that be?"

"To ask you to do your very best to win for Arthur."

"I was persuaded to accept a job and fulfill a written contract, Jasper. And that contract was to play poker. To the best of my ability. That's all I can promise to do. I can't guarantee a win."

"Your best will be quite satisfactory, son. But this entire valley, strike that, this entire territory, need Arthur Ridgeway here in Cheyenne if we're going to continue to expand and grow into a state. And since Arthur has agreed to this foolish competition, he needs a win. Much as I hate to lay all this on one man who doesn't have a personal stake in this, that's just what I have to do. You're carrying the load for all of us, Bart."

"Jasper, you're wrong. I do have a personal stake in this game. Seth Johnson promised me he'd kill me if I won, and let me live if I lost. What would you do given that choice?"

Finley shook his head. "That's a tough place to be, son. I should have known Johnson would try to swing this fight in his favor. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Bart took a draw on the cigar and laughed. "How's the law in this town?"

"Right now? Employed by Seth Johnson. We've got an election for Sheriff coming up in a month but that won't help you now."

"Well, I could always get on the next stage out of town," Bart said out loud.

"And run away from a fight? You don't strike me as that kind of man."

"Jasper, my old pappy used to tell us 'he who turns and runs away lives to run another day'."

Japer Finley had a laugh just as big as he was. "That's a good one. You said 'us.' There's another Maverick?"

"Several of us, actually. A brother in Abilene and a cousin and a sister in Montana."

"Any help in a pinch?"

"In a word, no. Brother Bret is currently indisposed while he and the town council in Abilene settle a dispute, and Cousin Beau just got married a month ago. Course I could send for Jody. She'd probably shoot the whole bunch."

"I see you're not wearing a gun. Any good with one?"

"I'm still alive. That's about all I can say. I'm a self-preservationist. I do everything I can to avoid gunplay whenever possible."

"That doesn't leave many options."

"Losing." Bart didn't think that would go over very well and from the look on Jasper Finley's face he was correct.

"Buckley could have done that."

"And done it with flair," Bart added. "And no doubt would have when presented with the choice. But Dandy's not here; I am. Mavericks have a hard time doing something when they're told to. Just ask my brother." Bart thought about Bret, sitting in a jail in Abilene, all because he wouldn't quit playing poker at midnight on Sunday morning. In the middle of a winning streak, he insisted.

Finley shook his head. "Then you've got a hard choice, son. I hope you make the right decision."

Bart liked Jasper Finley; he could see why he was a friend of Anderson's. He stood up and tipped his hat. "So do I, Jasper."


	6. Complications Ensue

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 6 – Complications Ensue

Bart decided not to return to his room. There was no point in waiting upstairs to see who wanted him next; he sat down in a chair outside the hotel and lit a cigar. Might as well do something pleasurable while he waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Up the sidewalk came a vision in red in the form of Millie Ridgeway. She was really lovely, with her hair waving in the breeze behind her. For just a minute she reminded him of Rose Garrett. He shook his head as if to dislodge the memory; he had other things on his mind right now. Like staying alive.

"I thought you were going to be in your room," she observed.

"I just came from a visit with Jasper Finley," he informed her.

"That doesn't surprise me. He'd do whatever he could to support my father."

"Speaking of which – "

"Yes, he would be more than happy to meet with you. If you can come with me now – "

He stood up and offered her his arm. She took it and they turned and went back down the sidewalk. They walked past the barber shop, a gun shop, the 'Cheyenne General Store and Emporium,' several small businesses with no names on them, and then a larger door with a glass-etched window. 'Frederick Morris, M.D.' the sign read, and to his surprise they stopped in front of the door. "My father's in here," Millie stated.

Bart opened the door and followed her in. They went through a small reception area and another door into an exam room. Bart gave an involuntary shudder; he'd spent too much time in doctor's exam rooms to ever be completely comfortable in them again. Sitting on the table in the room was the man Bart assumed to be Millie's father. A taller version of his daughter, Arthur Ridgeway was a middle-aged man with sandy brown hair and streaks of silver rather than gold. He immediately offered his hand to Bart to shake and smiled the same dazzling greeting his daughter gave.

"I understand that this has turned into quite a mess," he stated. "I'm sorry to have to meet you here, Mr. Maverick. I hope this hasn't inconvenienced you too much. Doctor Morris insists on my stopping in to see him almost every day and won't dismiss me until he's drawn as much blood as I'll allow him. I'm still waiting for him to give me the 'go ahead' today before I leave."

"Not at all, Mr. Ridgeway. It gave me the chance to escort Miss Millie again, a pleasure that every man should be privileged to experience. Call me Bart, please."

Arthur Ridgeway turned to his daughter. "Millie, honey, could you – "

"Give you some privacy? Certainly." She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek, then left the room.

"My pride and joy, and my biggest worry," he said as he shook his head. "Bart, I'm truly sorry about the visit you were forced to endure with Seth Johnson. I'd hoped that he would attempt to be fair in this contest; I can see that's not his intention. I'm sorry to have dragged you into the dispute."

"You didn't drag me, Mr. Ridgeway. I assumed the contract from Jim Buckley voluntarily."

"Arthur, please. I imagine that you probably didn't get the entire story from Mr. Buckley."

"To say the least."

Ridgeway looked at Bart quizzically. "Are you sure that Seth Johnson threatened you?"

"'You're going to lose and live. Or win and die.' Those are his exact words."

"Yes, that's a Seth Johnson threat of the highest order. In that case there's only one thing you can do."

"What is that, Arthur?"

"You must play and lose."

That was the last thing the gambler had expected to hear. "I, uh . . . . what?"

"Lose."

"Why?"

"Bart, I can't be responsible for a man's death. Especially a man that has no personal stake in the dispute. I simply can't allow it." There was both sympathy and concern in Ridgeway's voice.

"Mr. – Arthur, I think that should be my decision. There's a lot of money at stake here."

"More than that, my boy. The entire future of this territory is on the line. Still, the most important thing is your life."

Why did everybody keep trying to get him to abandon participating in this poker game? The more they discouraged him, the more he itched to play.

"Arthur, this is the way I make my living. I don't do anything else. There's too much possibility of a big payday here for me to simply walk away from it."

"But he threatened to kill you if you win."

"That threat's been made before. I'm here talking to you."

"Yes, but –"

"Threats are just threats."

"It would seem you have your mind made up. Are you sure there's nothing I can do to change it?"

"No, there's nothing you can do. What kind of up-front money am I starting with?"

"I've made arrangements at the bank. We can go there now if you're available. They'll have your five thousand dollars and your stake – twenty thousand dollars to start. That should get you through the night, eh?"

This would be a new experience – twenty thousand dollars to start! He'd get to see firsthand how really rich men played poker – and with their money.

Arthur Ridgeway got down from the exam table and buttoned his collar. "I'm tired of waiting for Dr. Morris. Let's got see my banker."

XXXXXXXX

"Twenty-four, twenty-five. Mr. Maverick, if you would be so kind – please count what I've just given you to be sure it's all there."

Bernard Harvey, the bank manager, had just laid twenty-five thousand dollars in front of Bart Maverick. He picked up the top five one thousand dollar bills and put them in his wallet, then proceeded to recount the remaining twenty thousand. "All there, Mister Harvey."

Arthur Ridgeway shook hands with Bernard Harvey. "Thank you, Bernard. Now remember, if Bart needs to send for another twenty thousand, you are to make it available immediately. If it goes past that please contact me at once and I shall approve any additional withdrawals. Do you have any questions, Bart?"

Bart shook his head 'no.' "None for Mr. Harvey."

"Alright, then that's all for right now, Bernard. Bart, let's go back to your hotel."

Millie had gone home after her father left the doctor's office, so it was just Bart and Arthur. They walked out of Harvey's office and then the bank, Bart getting the doors for the older man. So far Arthur Ridgeway was quite pleased with the substitution of Bart Maverick for Dandy Jim Buckley. The only question remaining was how well Maverick would play poker.

They walked back up the street, Bart matching the slower pace of the railroad tycoon. "Arthur, can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Bart. What is it?"

"Your daughter and Morgan Edwards. How long ago was that?"

Arthur chuckled to himself. It was difficult to look at his daughter and think that she once was going to marry Morgan Edwards. They'd practically grown up together, with Millie constantly tagging along with the older boy and his friends. Until she'd started to grow into a woman; then everything changed and it didn't take long for the wealthy lad to fall head-over-heels in love with the blossoming beauty. Morgan abandoned his friends for Millie's company, and soon she was promised to him in marriage.

Something happened that drastically changed the relationship. One of Morgan's former friends started gambling, badly, and was shot when he was caught cheating in a poker game of no consequence. Morgan felt guilty for abandoning his friends and began drinking. Drinking led to poker, and poker led to heavy monetary losses. It was during one of those games that Morgan met and lost to Seth Johnson, and it wasn't long before Edwards fell under the spell of the charismatic cattleman. The closer Morgan got to Seth, the further he drifted from Millie and support of her father's beliefs. Finally she could stand it no longer and the marriage was off. Morgan wandered ever closer to supporting Johnson's views on territory versus statehood, particularly when there was money involved.

Ridgeway finally came back to the present and Bart's question. "Oh, almost a year since the wedding was called off. Why do you ask?" That was a loaded question. He could well imagine the reason for the inquiry. Millie was a beautiful, intelligent single woman. Bart was a good-looking, charming single man.

"Just curious," came the reply. "They don't seem well-matched."

"They were – once. Not now, and not for a long time." Millie's father paused and considered the subject for a minute. He could think of worse things; he liked this young man. At least what he'd seen of him so far. "Millie has a lot of progressive ideas. Like statehood and women's voting rights. It'd take a more secure man than Morgan Edwards to win her heart now. Someone who likes a challenge." That last remark was aimed squarely at the gambler.

Bart seemed not to have heard. They'd arrived back at the hotel and gone to Bart's room; when he unlocked the door he was met with a suite that looked nothing like it had when he left. The room had been ransacked.


	7. Clean Up on Aisle Seven

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 7 – Clean Up on Aisle Seven

Somehow the disaster that was his room didn't surprise him. Arthur Ridgeway didn't expect those kind of things, and gasped, startled by the upheaval.

"Why?" This was about all that Millie's father could get out as his eyes took in the beautiful room that was a shambles, with Bart's possessions strewn everywhere.

Bart patted his coat, with his wallet safely inside, filled with gambling money. "For this, I assume," Bart stated without much doubt. "Good thing we weren't in any hurry to get back here."

"Seth's man?"

"You mean Raymond? Probably. Hope he enjoyed himself." Bart wasn't happy at having to reassemble all his earthly possessions into some measure of order.

"I'm getting you a bodyguard. You're not safe."

Bart laughed at that particular statement. "I'm safe, Arthur. The money's not."

Ridgeway pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "Two o'clock. I can get somebody up here to clean this up."

"That would be appreciated. Coffee? The dining room?"

Arthur nodded, even though he still had an extremely worried look on his face. "What about the money? Where are you going to put it?"

"Right where it is." He patted his coat again. "That's the safest place I can think of."

They walked back downstairs. Ridgeway spoke to the desk clerk about cleaning up the wrecked suite; the clerk nodded in agreement. The two men continued to the dining room and ordered coffee; again a Ridgeway pointed out that the hotel carried a full bar and could provide anything the gambler wanted. Again a Maverick explained his attitude about drinking and poker playing. Arthur was nowhere near surprised as his daughter had been; but he was pleased. At least he understood that his funds wouldn't be gambled away in a drunken stupor.

Bart and his 'employer' talked about anything and everything – Arthur's start in the railroad business, how he'd made his fortune, Millie's mother, his interest in statehood, and his hopes for the future of Cheyenne, before the topic of discussion became Bart. The young gambler told the older man tales from his childhood, including the episode with the barn and the two broken legs and some of his adventures with an older brother and cousin. He was sketchy on his recent history, giving just a brief explanation of the past three years and all that had befallen him. The last few months were explained away with a simple, "There were repercussions, of course, and I dealt with them."

The more he revealed to the tycoon the stronger the bonds of friendship grew. Arthur saw qualities in the drifter that he recognized in himself in his younger days with one exception – Bart had a family to depend on – Ridgeway had been alone.

An hour after the front desk clerk had informed the unlikely pair that the room was now clean and reorganized, the card sharp got up to go back to his suite. The time was short until the beginning of the poker game; Bart wanted some quiet before the chaos started. They parted company and agreed to meet again the first time a hiatus was called in the game; Arthur Ridgeway had every intention of finding a reliable man to keep tabs on the young man playing in his stead.

The room looked much better when he opened the door this time. He threw his hat on the chair, followed shortly by his coat. He just wanted to close his eyes for a few minutes and reflect on all the knowledge, good and bad, he'd gained in one short day. Before he'd had much time to ponder the situation he found himself in, it was time to get ready to play poker.

He was energized and anxious but confident. It had been a long time since he played in any game this important; even the high roller games in Montana couldn't compete with the monetary and historical significance of this one. He got up and checked his appearance – yep, he still looked like the youngest of the poker playing Mavericks – then slipped his coat on over the shoulder holster. He probably didn't need the gun belt but he buckled it on anyway and tied the leg tie – just in case. No sense taking any chances, not after his room had already been invaded. He straightened his tie and was finished. Time to go to work.


	8. Round One

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 8 – Round One

He was on time for the game. He was always on time for a game. Playing poker came naturally – like breathing. He'd been playing since he was big enough to hold the cards. He played it when he was awake; he played it when he was asleep. He played it when he felt fantastic; he played it when he felt awful. He played it to celebrate, he played it to mourn.

That wasn't entirely true. There was one time when he couldn't play poker at all; after Caroline died. For a while he couldn't do anything; even breathing was difficult. Eventually it passed, and nothing had stopped him since.

A knock on the door to room 346. The door opened by a lovely lass who wore a big smile and a dazzling gown of gold. She ushered him in and closed the door behind him.

To say the room was palatial was to insult it. Big enough to hold a town meeting, everything was mahogany, silk and marble. There was a poker table at one end of the room; at the other end was a bar and bartender. In between were overstuffed chairs that wreaked of luxury and made the room resemble the finest men's club. Whoever set it up had spared no expense in doing so. Standing in one corner smoking cigars were Seth Johnson and a man Bart didn't know; he assumed it to be Andrew Watson. Raymond stood passively behind his boss, with his back against the wall and an expressionless face.

Over at the bar holding court was Jasper Finley; with him were Morgan Edwards and a third man he'd never seen before, somewhere in age between Edwards and Finley, and dressed almost as expensively as Seth Johnson. Either there was another participant in the game that Bart had no knowledge of or a dealer was going to handle the cards. Both choices were acceptable; it made no difference to him.

Jasper finished telling his story and saw the gambler enter the room. He waved Bart over and slapped him on the back when he got to the bar. "Maverick, this is Deacon Cain, he's a real deacon at our church. Deacon, Bart Maverick, Arthur Ridgeway's proxy. You've met Morgan Edwards already. What can we get you to drink?"

In between shaking hands with Deacon and Morgan, Bart told the bartender "Coffee. And keep it coming, please."

Morgan piped up, "Really Maverick, nothing but coffee? Isn't that what you were drinking the last time we met?" Edwards seemed to be halfway to inebriated already. Bart didn't care for drunks. It was alright if a man wanted to drink, like Doc Holliday did; but there was no need to be a sloppy drinker. No matter how much he'd had Doc was always elegant. Morgan Edwards was not.

"I'm working, Mr. Edwards. I don't drink."

"Come now, Bart, we've been through this already, the name's Morgan. No offense meant."

"None taken, Morgan. I still don't drink." Bart turned his attention to the other man. "Deacon Cain, a pleasure to meet you. I'm not much of an organized religion man myself, but I am an admirer of your reference book." They shook hands cordially and it only took a moment for the deacon to realize Bart was referring to the Bible. He looked surprised; no one expected that from the gambler. Bart's next question was "Are you participating or dealing?"

"Dealing, Mr. Maverick. They'll change dealers at each break. Me first, then Mr. Johnson will have a dealer of his choice for the next session."

Bart was amused that these 'gentlemen' had decided to play poker in 'sessions' rather than continuously. He'd played in games that lasted days and nights, until there was only one man left standing. This was going to be a very odd game.

"Gentlemen, shall be begin? Mr. Johnson, according to the rules that were agreed to by everyone, your man Raymond will have to leave. Mr. Maverick, Mr. Edwards, Mr. Watson, your guns please. They will all be behind the bar when the session is over. Do you all know each other? Mr. Watson, Mr. Bart Maverick. He is Arthur Ridgeway's proxy player. Mr. Maverick, Mr. Andrew Watson. All set? Let's begin."

When Deacon finished everyone took a seat. Cain sat at the head of the table, with Andrew Watson to his left, then Jasper Finley, Bart, Seth Johnson and Morgan Edwards. Deacon began shuffling the cards and told everyone, "We'll start small, gentlemen. One hundred dollar ante."

The game began slowly, with each player feeling the others out. All had a tell, and Bart picked up on them quickly. Whenever Morgan didn't get the cards he wanted he took a drink. Andrew Watson chewed on his lower lip when he was bluffing. Jasper Finley re-lit his cigar when he had a winning hand.

Seth Johnson was the only one who was impossible to read. Bart watched him carefully; Seth won the first hand and Bart the second. After the third game the gambler knew where the biggest challenge would come from, and it was the inscrutable Mr. Johnson. He was almost as methodical and steady as Bart. The man had played a lot of poker before, and played it well.

The bartender, whose name was Gerald, took good care of them. Each man drank differently, much as they played poker. Gerald never had to be reminded to fill anyone's drink, whether it was whiskey, champagne or coffee. They played all evening and into the night, with most of the games going to Bart or Seth. By sunrise Morgan Edwards was down to almost nothing and Andrew Watson wasn't doing much better. Finally Deacon Cain put the cards down on the table and suggested a temporary halt. "We've been playing for over twelve hours, gentlemen. I suggest you resume again at five this evening."

It was a strange way to play poker; it reminded Bart of another game that he and Bret had played against each other. He hadn't been involved in setting up rules for that game, either, but luckily they both emerged unscathed. He was about to get up when Jasper grasped his arm. "A word before you leave, Bart?"

"Sure, Jasper," he answered. "I'm gonna get my hardware. I'll be back." Bart stood up from the table and walked toward the bar just as the door to the room opened and Raymond entered.

"Hey, Maverick, losin' tonight? No? Remember the conversation you had with the boss?"

Bart took his gun belt from Gerald and strapped it on, not bothering with the leg tie. "I didn't have a conversation with your boss, Raymond. He did all the talking."

"Ha ha ha. You're still funny," Raymond answered him. "He told me to remind you what happens if you win."

The gambler turned away from Raymond, who found his way quickly to Johnson's side. Bart returned to the table and Jasper Finley. "You wanted something, Jasper?"

"I don't think Watson will be back tonight. Right now his spending money is pretty well tied up in that herd he's about ready to sell, and he lost heavily last night. He's got plenty in investments but no ready cash. Unless Johnson's willing to put up funds for his friend, we've probably seen the last of him. Close to the same with Edwards. Morgan doesn't have near the resources he used to – maybe one more night like last night and he's pretty well done, too. Just wanted to give you a heads up on those two. You did well. Arthur will be pleased."

Bart looked at the pile of bills on the table. Not too bad for the first night. "Is this going under lock and key until tonight?" he asked no one in particular.

Deacon Cain handed him a money bag with a lock and key on it. "This is yours. They were all set up and marked in advance. It'll be in the hotel safe and the next dealer will bring the strongbox at five o'clock. You'll see your name on the backside of the bag. Make sure you bring the key with you, you have the only one."

Bart counted the money and put it in the bag and locked it, then slipped the key into his vest pocket. Over thirty-seven thousand dollars, counting the original twenty thousand. Another twelve hour period like that and he'd be trying to find ways to avoid Seth Johnson and Raymond.

"Breakfast?" Jasper inquired.

"Bed," Bart answered. "Need that worse right now."

He settled his hat on his head, then tipped it to the lovely lass who was once again handling the door and walked down the hallway to the stairs. This time his room was all in one piece and he reversed the process he'd just been through. The gun belt came back off and rested next to the pillow. The hat and coat found their way across the chair next to the bed, along with the shoulder holster, and Bart wasted no time lying down. Sleep came almost immediately.

XXXXXXXX

It was a faint sound at first; like hammering on a wooden fence would sound from a distance. As he began to emerge from the I-haven't-slept-in-two-days fog in his brain the sound gradually got louder and louder, and just as he realized it was on his door, it abruptly quit. "Yes?" he finally managed to get out. There was no answer.

Still half asleep, he clawed his way out of bed and stumbled to the door. Once the door was thrown open he realized, too late, that his gun was still in its holster on the bed. Raymond was there, his fists balled into knots of flesh, one of which was headed right for Bart's jaw. He ducked in time and missed the original blow but couldn't escape the follow-up, aimed at his belly. The punch landed and knocked the wind out of him and he staggered back, almost falling into the settee in the middle of the room. Raymond took two steps in and threw another uppercut and caught him square in the mouth. His vision blurred and his senses swam, and he never saw the next punch coming. That one caught him on the left temple and dropped him to the floor. Raymond landed a well-placed kick to the ribs that jerked Bart off the ground and onto his back; his other side was the recipient of a second kick and Raymond could hear the ribs crack as he made contact.

"Maybe that'll teach you some respect, funny boy," the bodyguard told the unconscious gambler on the floor. "If it doesn't I can always come back." He turned and left the door standing open, disappearing down the long hallway that led to the back staircase.

Bart laid on the floor of his suite until Arthur Ridgeway and his daughter Millie came up the stairs and found him, still unconscious and bleeding. Millie ran back down the stairs and brought the front desk clerk up to help her father carry Maverick to his bed, where at long last a groan issued from his lips. The young woman wiped his face with the towel she'd taken from the dresser and he groaned again, feeling his ribs gingerly without opening his eyes. He knew that the ribs on his right side were either cracked or broken, and he quit trying to touch them; the shoulder movement was too painful.

The hotel clerk ran down the street and returned with Dr. Morris following him. Millie was escorted downstairs to wait and the tycoon and the doctor did their best to get Bart's vest and shirt off. Morris was appalled to see the scars on the young man's body; he looked worse than some of the soldiers the doctor treated during the War.

The entire right side of Bart's chest and stomach was bruised and discolored and there was no doubt in the doctor's mind that the ribs were cracked, at the least. The gambler's eyes finally opened and he looked at the man bent over him questioningly. "Doctor?" Followed by another groan.

"What happened, son?" Doctor Morris asked.

"A wall ran into me," Bart choked out, and immediately made another grab for his right side.

"Don't you mean you ran into a wall?" the doctor questioned.

"No," came the answer, accompanied by painful coughing and more groaning.

"Bart, who did this to you? Was it Seth?" Arthur asked the question.

A one-word answer. "Raymond." Another groan.

Doctor Morris looked up at Ridgeway, who was leaning over both doctor and patient. "Go get Millie, Arthur. I have to wrap his ribs and I need her help." Then he turned his attention back to Bart. "You're going to have to be awfully careful, Mr. Maverick. I don't know whether your ribs are broken or cracked, and how many have been damaged, but I'd guess at least two or three. About the only thing I can do is wrap you up good and tight. And try to take it easy for a while."

"I've got a poker game at five tonight, doctor," he tried to breathe and it hurt. "Any suggestions?"

"You can't play poker tonight. Too much strain on that ribcage."

"I have to. Do what you can," he painfully told the doctor.

Morris checked his mouth and face; Bart's lip was split and he was going to have a black eye on the left side. He looked awful but that was the least of his worries, considering the damage done by Raymond's kicks to the body. Millie hurried in with her father not far behind; she gasped when she saw the handsome gambler's face.

"Millie, I need your help here," Doctor Morris told her. "Let's see if we can get him up so I can wrap his ribs. I'm gonna need you to stand on the other side of the bed and take this gauze when I pass it to you. Keep it as tight as you can and pass it back to me. We've got to go around several times before I can tape it." The doctor got his arms under Bart's and before he started asked him, "You ready now, son? This is gonna be painful."

Bart nodded yes as best he could and the doctor pulled him up. He tried not to cry out, but the sting was sharp and he couldn't breathe; despite his best intentions a loud yelp escaped him as the doctor got him upright. "I can give you some aspirin for the pain," Doctor Morris offered.

"Can't take it," Bart managed between clenched teeth.

"What about liquor?" the doctor asked next.

"Don't drink."

"You're gonna need something, son," Morris told him as he and Millie did their best to wrap the gambler's battered body.

"No," Bart insisted. "I'll be alright." The look on his face said otherwise.

The doctor and his assistant finished the wrapping and Doctor Morris did his best to help Bart with his shirt. The card sharp had to grit his teeth again when it was time to slip the right sleeve on his arm. It was a slow and painful process, and they had to stop more than once for Bart to catch his breath. His left sleeve was easier; it was obvious the right ribcage had sustained the most damage. When that was accomplished Bart carefully re-buttoned the front. It was the most painful that putting on a shirt had ever been.

There was no relief from the aching. Bart nodded towards his vest and turned to Millie for help. "Check the pocket and make sure the key's still in there." She picked up the vest and felt in the pocket, then pulled out a key and held it up.

"Yes. What's it to?"

"Right now, the kingdom," Bart answered. She helped him into the vest, which was only slightly less painful than putting on the shirt had been. Millie's turn to ask the question. "Why, Bart? The poker game?"

He would have nodded but he knew better. "Good thing they wouldn't let you play."

"You have to quit. Before they kill you."

"That's already on their agenda. The only way to stay alive is keep playing."

Arthur Ridgeway spoke up. "You have to lose, son. You can't take another one of these."

Bart tried to laugh and groaned instead. Laughing, like breathing, was painful. "I'm not quitting. And I'm not losing. Arthur, take the derringer out of its holster and give it to me."

The tycoon did as directed and passed the derringer over. Bart slipped it into the other vest pocket. Keep it close, where he could get to it in a hurry. For right now the shoulder holster required too much effort. He looked from Arthur to Millie to Dr. Morris; his request was to all of them. "Not a word to anybody about this, understand? As far as the world is concerned, it didn't happen."


	9. Every Breath You Take

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 9 – Every Breath You Take

This was going to be harder than he'd anticipated. It was painful to stand still, much less walk. Stairs were almost impossible. And every breath hurt. Even thinking about breathing hurt.

He stayed close to Millie and Arthur, hoping that he could hide his shortness of breath after a brief walk across the lobby. He was starving and convinced them he would be fine; all he needed was to get some food into him. By the time they sat down in the dining room he was sweating and unable to catch his breath; and so pale that they were concerned he was about to pass out. He ordered something; he wasn't even sure what. They were both surprised when he skipped the coffee; for once water seemed to be the only thing he wanted to drink.

" – can't play this way," Millie was telling him, for the second or third time. He looked at her and wondered why she kept moving. It took him a minute to realize that Millie was sitting still; it was his head that was spinning. He was exhausted; he hadn't gotten enough sleep to begin with and he was already worn out from the effort it took just to sit up and breathe. And his entire ribcage was on fire.

"I agree with her," Arthur chimed in, and Bart was hard pressed to remember what they were talking about. Food came and he was no longer interested, but ate anyway. The Ridgeway's talked; he tried to answer. They were insistent that he either had to lose at poker or quit playing. He was just as determined that he was going to do neither.

The trip back upstairs almost did him in. By the time they were back in his room he was ready to collapse and needed help to get into bed. Millie promised to wake him at four o'clock, in order to have enough time to get ready for the game. He finally found a position in the bed that caused the least amount of pain and fell asleep almost instantly.

Millie looked down at the man lying in the bed and turned to her father. "This has gone too far," she said emphatically. "It has to stop. This man came here to play poker, not get the stuffing beat out of him. You have to do something, father. Make it stop."

Her father watched her advocate so passionately for the gambler and pondered how quickly she'd fallen under his spell. Good-looking, principled and charming, not to mention the sense of honor he seemed to have, Arthur chuckled to himself. Bart Maverick was a big step up from Morgan Edwards.

"I think I should go talk to Seth and see what we can do about this poker game. You understand we'll have to leave and give up the dream of statehood?" He wanted to make sure she knew exactly what they were getting into.

The realization of just what an exit to the poker game would mean became apparent to his daughter, and she wanted to be sure that her father understood her reasoning. "Don't get the wrong idea about why I want you to quit," she explained. "I like Bart, but after this game is over I'll probably never see him again. I think it's the best thing for you, and us. We can go somewhere else in the territory and start over. We can work on statehood from there. I don't like what this game has turned everybody into. Not you, not Jasper, not even Morgan. I should have never gone along with it. It's time we got out, father." Millie looked at her father and knew that he agreed with her. "You go to Mr. Johnson. See what he'll go along with. I'll stay here with Bart. Come get me when you've reached an agreement." She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek, then gave him her best smile. "We'll fight again, dad. It's not over."

He hoped that she was right, but didn't know what kind of a fight they'd have, right here.

XXXXXXXX

Bart woke with a start, and pain. Ah, old friend, so happy to see you again! Did you ever really go very far away? He blinked and tried to sit up; suddenly remembering why the pain was with him. He took a deep breath and wished he hadn't – that led to a coughing fit, which hurt even worse than the breath. Where was he? That's right, in his hotel room in Cheyenne. Was he by himself? He tried to look around the room and finally saw something green come into his line of sight. It was Millie Ridgeway in a green dress; for a moment he mistook her for an angel before he realized that death wouldn't hurt like this. "Help me up," he pleaded, and she grabbed his hands and helped him sit upright. He was exhausted from the effort, and he hurt.

"What time is it?" Bart asked, not wanting to reach in to his pocket for his watch and cause more pain.

"Almost four thirty," she answered, knowing that he would be upset when he discovered how late it was. She'd deliberately let him sleep, expecting her father back any moment.

He looked at her strangely but said nothing. Instead he swung his legs onto the floor and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea sweep over him, and knew that it was only going to get worse before it got better. "Can you get me a shirt out of the dresser?"

"Bart, no, father went to find Seth Johnson and end this farce. You don't have to go play. He should be back any minute."

Bart struggled to stand but finally got to his feet. Somehow he managed to get his shirt off and stumbled over to the dresser, finding a clean one and unbuttoning it. She stared at him, watching his effort to get the garment on; finally she got to her feet and helped him. He turned from the dresser to face her and she buttoned it up the front for him, all the way to the collar, and then watched in fascination as he leaned in and kissed her. Flustered, she backed away and retrieved the discarded shirt from the floor and removed the cufflinks, using them in the french cuffs of the clean shirt. His breathing was quick and shallow and she could see the pain in his eyes. He bent to kiss her again and this time she kissed him back, just as her father came through the door. She quickly backed away.

"He wouldn't see me," Arthur announced glumly. "He sent word to be at the poker game tonight."

"He's not gonna let you out gracefully," Bart advised. "He smells blood, and he wants to taste it. This is far from over." He left the discarded coat hanging on the back of a chair and went to the closet for the new black one he'd had made after Travis Cole destroyed his favorite. He brought it and a black and gold vest back to the bed with him and had to stop and try to breathe. If he wasn't going to get any help with this he would do it himself. He was lightheaded but tried to hide it as Millie approached to help with the vest; she took it from him and slid it effortlessly around his right arm, then his left. She followed the same procedure with the coat, and brushed her hand across his back when done. Bart was pale and sweating again but grateful for the help; it was easier than doing it alone. He wanted to sit down and catch his breath but knew if he sat down he wouldn't have the strength to get back up. Instead he turned his head slightly to Arthur and said, "Let's go."

It seemed to take forever to climb the stairs and get to room 346. Ridgeway was watching him closely, as if waiting for his imminent collapse. Arthur knocked and the same young lady opened the door, now dressed all in black. No unstrapping the gun belt this time; he hadn't worn it. The Remington was in one vest pocket and the key to the money bag in another.

Jasper was correct; Andrew Watson wasn't there. Bart approached Finley carefully. He didn't need a repeat of last night's greeting, when Jasper slapped him on the back. Morgan Edwards was on the other side of the room talking to Seth Johnson; Raymond was conspicuously absent. Jasper seemed startled to see Arthur, and Bart left the two together to talk. He walked over to Johnson and Edwards and arrived at the same time as a lull in the conversation. "Mr. Johnson, where's your bodyguard tonight?"

"Raymond? He had an errand to run, Mr. Maverick. Did you need him for something?"

"Just wanted to make sure he was alright," Bart answered. "Seemed like something was bothering him earlier today."

"Oh, did you see him this afternoon?" Johnson played dumb.

"No," answered Bart, "late this morning. He seemed - out of sorts."

"Ha ha, that's good. Raymond's right. You are funny."

"Give him my best." Bart turned and walked away as if nothing was wrong, despite the effort it took just to move. By the time he got back to the bar and the two friends he was struggling for breath and Ridgeway wore a look of concern.

"Bart, you're awfully pale. Are you breathing alright?" This from Arthur as Jasper now watched him carefully, too.

No, he wasn't breathing alright, but he wasn't going to tell them. "I'm fine, Arthur. Are you going to speak to Johnson or has Jasper talked you out of that nonsense?"

"Bart's right, Arthur, that's nonsense. It'll do no good at all, and just make Bart more vulnerable. If Seth thinks he can beat you by beating up on Bart he'll try it again."

' _Isn't that a pleasant thought?'_ Bart thought to himself.

Just then the door to the suite opened again and a rather odd looking man walked in, carrying a strongbox and guarded by the aforementioned Raymond. He crossed to the table and set the box down, then unlocked and opened it. "Our money." explained Bart.

The odd looking man began passing out the marked money bags. When he was left with only Watson's bag he put it back in the strongbox and closed the lid. Arthur turned to Bart. "jasper has me more than half convinced to let you play. Are you up for it?"

Bart didn't hesitate. "Yes, of course I am."

The railroad tycoon laughed and shook his head. "Millie will never forgive me," he stated unequivocally. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Arthur." He was sure he wanted to play; the question remained if he could stand the pain. Right now all he wanted to do was lay down and close his eyes. Without warning Raymond looked directly at him, startled to see him upright. When Raymond put a man down he usually stayed down. As he made his way towards the door he walked right past the group and Bart moved out of his way, lest the bodyguard get any ideas.

Finally Ridgeway made up his mind. "Tonight, only." He decreed, and followed Raymond out the door.

Seth Johnson watched him go and his expression never changed. Obviously this was going to be more difficult than he'd imagined. Just then the odd little man announced "Gentlemen, are we ready to play? My name is Manny DeCorda. Please take your seats."


	10. Round Two

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 10 – Round Two

"Mr. Maverick."

Huh? Who was calling him?

"Mr. Maverick."

And what did they want?

"Mr. Maverick, it's your bet."

How long had he been sitting there looking at his cards? And what did he have, for heaven's sake? And how much was the bet? He looked at the five cards in his hand – four of clubs, four of diamonds, four of hearts; Queen of spades, King of hearts. Three of a kind, possible full house. Now he remembered. The bet was five hundred dollars. Had he been asked to discard yet? Why was he having so much trouble focusing?

Finally. "Call." He threw money into the pot. He was so tired and it was hard to concentrate. It hurt to breathe; it hurt to sit; it hurt to keep his eyes open. He had to stay alert. Arthur and Millie were depending on him. At last, there was the call for cards. When it was his turn he asked for one and threw the King in. _'Why did you do that, Bart?'_ Why hold the Queen of Spades rather than the King of Hearts? It was the closest Bart Maverick came to a superstition; he never discarded the Queen of Spades. This time it paid off; he drew the Queen of clubs. Full house. Now what?

XXXXXXXX

Seth Johnson smiled. It seemed that Raymond's little visit to Maverick, which appeared to have not worked earlier, was now inclined to start paying dividends. In the last hour he'd lost a hand and almost failed to call when he should have; it was obvious he was in pain by his inattention to the game and the beads of sweat ringing his forehead. Seth was a good poker player, but it never hurt to have a little insurance, and Raymond's visit had provided that. They'd succeeded in breaking Morgan's back earlier in the evening; two down and two to go.

When it came to poker Seth had no allies. Everyone playing against him was an opponent, whether they agreed with his political views or not. He had no more problem running the table against Morgan Edwards and Andrew Watson than he did Bart Maverick. And this game was for the biggest win of his life. "I'll see your five hundred and raise a thousand." He had a King high straight and didn't expect Maverick to come back with anything higher, although he was the hardest opponent to read that Seth had ever played against. This would make it two in a row against the card sharp, and a nice big pot to go along with it. He expected to hear 'fold' from his opponent; instead he heard 'yours and another thousand.'

What the hell? When did the gambler start paying attention again? And what did he have over there? He'd only asked for one card, could he be holding that good a hand? Or was this a sucker's bet, and he was waiting for Johnson to fall into the trap? After playing against the man for two full nights he still didn't know when Maverick was bluffing and when he had the cards.

He looked at the pile of money in front of each of them. Maverick's was bigger; that didn't mean he'd won more. He wasn't going to give this hand away – he took twenty-five hundred dollars off his pile and threw it on the table, along with "raise another fifteen hundred." Again he waited for the 'fold' from across the table; this time he got 'call' and another fifteen-hundred dollars went into the pile in the center of the table. "King high," he announced as he set down his straight. Instead of raking in the pot he was forced to watch the gambler do so, after he called "Queens over fours, full."

Damn. Didn't see that coming. How did this man play when he was obviously in so much pain? Raymond had described the assault in detail; he knew what damage the bodyguard could inflict when motivated. Ribs had to be cracked or broken, he'd seen it done a hundred times or more. Yet Maverick kept playing as if nothing more than the black eye had been visited upon him. Perhaps it was time to take things a step further?

XXXXXXXX

When the thousand dollar raise came Bart questioned himself – how high would he go in this hand? Once he'd made the decision to ride the bet as long as it took it was just a matter of keeping track of the money. Even in the state he was in he knew how good a poker player Johnson was. Still, he had Queens full.

He looked around the table. Morgan Edwards was done, funds run dry about six hours ago. Jasper Finley was getting low on table money; whether Jasper replenished his funds or not remained to be seen. So at the moment it was the gambler and the kingpin. All the gambler wanted to do was lay down so the pain would quit its constant assault on his body. Maybe DeCorda would call a halt after this hand. Funny how cracked ribs could give you a different perspective on the way a poker match was conducted.

When the moment to call came he was relieved to see nothing more than the King high straight laid down. He called his Queens full and pulled in the pot, then watched the dealer to see if the break was coming. He almost let his relief show when DeCorda did just that.

"Six a.m. gentlemen. Game closed, to resume at five p.m. tonight. Here are your money bags; it's been my privilege. You'll have a new dealer tonight."

Immediately Jasper leaned over to him. "Bart, you alright? You've looked better, son."

The best he could do was a reply through clenched teeth. "Yeah. I've felt better." Without getting up he made a quick count of the money in front of him. Fifty-six thousand, eight hundred dollars. He put it in the money bag and locked it; retrieved the key and handed the bag back to Manny DeCorda, then touched his hat in respect. "Mr. DeCorda, thanks for the deal." He turned his attention back to Jasper. "Get me up, Jasper. I can't do it by myself."

Finley got up and discreetly grabbed Bart's arm to help him up out of the chair. His shirt sleeve was sopping wet with sweat, and the gambler winced as he got to his feet. Jasper looked at him in alarm but said nothing. Bart picked his coat up from the back of his chair and folded it over his arm; he took a step that turned into a stagger and almost collapsed right there. Jasper threw his arm around Bart's shoulders and pulled him into a friendly embrace to hold him erect. "Let's get you out of here." He nodded and leaned on the older man, the only thing holding him up at the moment.

They made it out the door just as Raymond was going in; again the startled look from the bodyguard. Raymond shook his head in disbelief; the slender man had taken a beating designed to disable most and was still walking. Raymond almost smiled out of respect, then thought better of it and simply made way for the men to pass.

"Get me . . . . . .room . . . . . bed . . . . . hurry," Bart gasped, almost at the end of his rope. With Finley's guidance he stumbled down the stairs, and when they made the turn in the hallway that led to his room a quiet moan escaped his lips. _'Just a few more feet,'_ he reminded himself as they entered the suite and Bart fell into the bed, not caring how much the landing was going to hurt. Jasper removed the coat from Bart's arms and took it to the closet. By the time he got back to the gambler Millie and Arthur had appeared at the door, and the girl immediately ran for the towel and water on the dresser. Her father turned to Jasper for information.

The big man shook his head. "I don't know how he did it," he told Arthur. "I could barely get him out of there. And he's ahead, Arthur. It's just the three of us, and I can't keep up with those two. He'll never be able to go back tonight. We've got to find a way to stall this game."

Arthur Ridgeway looked at the man in the bed, currently being tended to by his daughter. "I've got an idea, Jasper. Let's go send a telegram." Arthur and Jasper left the room while Millie wiped off Bart's face.

"Can you hear me, Bart? Gamblin' man? What do you need?"

"Water," came the feeble answer. The girl got up and went to the dresser, where she poured a glass from the pitcher and brought it back to the bed. She put her arm under the pillow and lifted Bart's head so he could drink, which he did until the glass was empty. Then she laid the pillow down gently and brushed the damp hair from his face.

"Better?"

"Mmmmmhmmm." Bart opened his eyes and looked at her. "You're way prettier than Seth Johnson."

"You can't play tonight." There was anger, fear and worry in her voice.

"Not arguing." His eyes closed again. "Not arguing."


	11. The Weight of the World

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 11 – The Weight of the World

The morning passed before Arthur Ridgeway and Jasper Fielding returned to Bart's room. He was still sleeping and her father pulled Millie aside so they wouldn't wake him. "We managed to get the game delayed."

"How long, dad?"

"Just until tomorrow, Millie. But that's better than tonight."

She shook her head, wondering how he was going to be ready to play tomorrow. "That's not much help."

"It was the best we could do, given the circumstances."

"Do I even want to know what you two did?"

Arthur and Jasper exchanged glances and both chuckled. Her father gave the answer. "Let's just say Mr. Johnson was called out of town on an emergency and begged for a twenty-four-hour delay, which we were all too happy to agree to."

They were startled to hear Bart's voice from the bed. "Good work. I'll be ready by tomorrow."

Millie hurried over to his bedside. "You can't possibly play again tomorrow. You'll kill yourself."

"I'd laugh but it would hurt," he told her. "I'll be ready to play. Quit worrying." He looked at the two men. "What does a fella have to do to get some food around here?"

"Breakfast? Lunch? Supper? Anything you want. What good is money if you can't spend it?" Arthur was in a much better mood, knowing that they'd bought Bart an extra day of rest.

"Breakfast, please. Bacon and eggs. And coffee. Lots of coffee."

Arthur Ridgeway hurried off to get the injured man something to eat.

Jasper helped Bart sit up in bed while Millie piled pillows behind him, then continued to hover until Bart reached up and grabbed her hand. "Sit down. I'm fine."

She looked at him skeptically. "I saw you collapse into that bed. You're not fine."

He gave a short laugh and grabbed his ribs. "I would be if you'd sit down." His breath was coming in short, shallow bursts. His hands were cold and clammy but he was no longer sweating. "Do you want me to get up and make you sit down?"

Millie smiled; he really was quite charming. "Yes sir." She finally sat, he still had hold of her hand. She'd only been there a moment when he started coughing. She grabbed one of the pillows and held it against his ribs while he choked and gagged. The effort left him exhausted and in renewed pain.

"How'd you know – " he started.

"My brother. A mule kicked him and broke three ribs when he was twelve. That's what Doctor Morris told us to do."

"And you brother is ?" he questioned.

"Dead," she responded. 'Killed in the war. You have any brothers or sisters?"

"A brother. And a cousin who's more brother than cousin. Us three boys were raised together. And a sister. She's in Montana." He had to stop talking; he could barely breathe.

'Why were you in Boulder?"

"A poker game."

"And before that?"

"Denver. Colorado Springs. Pueblo. Durango. Silver Creek. Don't remember before that."

"Don't you ever stay in one place?" She wondered what it would be like to travel around, free.

He watched her eyes and tried to guess what she was thinking. "No reason to."

"Would you stay somewhere if you had a reason?"

"Depends on the reason."

They were talking in circles, and it made her want to laugh. Even when you couldn't get a straight answer out of him, he kept you amused. "You have a sweetheart somewhere?"

Ah, the light came on in his head. "Nope."

"A wife?"

He hesitated, then finally answered her. "Nope."

She heard a note of remorse in his voice and had to ask. "You had a wife?"

"Yes." Now regret.

"Where is she?"

He sighed, and remembered that he shouldn't do that. Nothing was easy the way he felt. "Buried in New Mexico."

"Oh." They sat quietly for a moment. "Sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

She looked at him carefully. He wasn't more than twenty-six or twenty-seven; it couldn't have been that long ago. There was one more question that she had to ask. "Childbirth?" He seemed like the kind of man that would want children, and be good with them.

"Murdered." Just the way he answered made her know she wasn't asking any more questions.

Now it was Bart's turn. "You and Morgan Edwards – how long did that last?"

"Too long," was her reply. "From the time I was sixteen until last year. Too long."

"What ended it?"

"He chose a side. It wasn't my father's."

"No chance for reconciliation?" He liked this girl. Another independent, spirited woman. And a beauty.

"None." Why was he asking? There was that kiss. "Bart?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

"Why are you doing this? Playing for my father? Besides the money, I mean?"

"I like your father." Wasn't that a good enough reason?

"You're risking your life. You've already seen how far Seth Johnson will go to win and have my father permanently out of his hair."

"I don't like bullies." He tried to move and winced in pain. "I forgot. Don't move."

Finally Arthur arrived with food and coffee. Bart wasn't sure which one he was more grateful for. Millie stayed and helped; when he was done with all but the coffee she moved everything out of the way. "We're not done, you know," she told him.

"Oh? What else do you want to know, Miss Ridgeway?"

"Why you're determined to finish this card game."

He smiled. That was about the only thing he could do without debilitating pain, and even that hurt where Raymond had caught him in the face. "I have a vested interest in my boss's daughter."

Millie blushed but smiled back. _'I wish you did,'_ she thought to herself. "I should go. You need to sleep."

He caught her hand again. "I wish you'd stay. You're a lot prettier to look at than those two." He inclined his head towards the two older men, who were over in the corner of the suite discussing something passionately, from the look of things.

"Alright, I will for a while. If you'll go to sleep. Is it a deal?'

"It's a deal," he told her and closed his eyes. He still held her hand, but in just a few minutes he fell asleep and his grip on her went limp. She sat there for a while, holding on to his hand, and closed her own eyes. It was easy to imagine that he was hers; the long, slender fingers wrapped in her hair and pulling her close to him. She hurriedly opened her eyes and blushed; she barely knew the man. What was happening here?

Arthur watched his daughter sit with the gambler and wondered how this would all end. There was something more here than just a contract; this had become personal to Bart Maverick, whoever he was. He was sure Millie was falling in love with the man; he'd seen her like this only once before, and that was with Morgan Edwards. He feared she'd get hurt; at the same time he hoped she'd finally get over Morgan.

Bart needed rest, and someone to help him when he was awake. It looked like Millie was willing to fulfill that job; they'd have to come up with a new plan by tomorrow afternoon. Arthur and Jasper left to confer and plan, knowing that Wyoming's fate rested squarely on the broad shoulders of the gambling man.


	12. The Long Walk

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 12 – The Long Walk

Nobody thinks about breathing. It's just something you do naturally, without any attention or effort – until you don't. When every single breath you take is painful and difficult, it suddenly becomes something very much on your mind. And, in Bart Maverick's case, in your immediate consciousness.

He felt better when he woke later that afternoon, but breathing, or rather his inability to do so painlessly, was on his mind. So was everything else that couldn't be accomplished without help – like bathing, getting cleaned up and getting dressed. True, he had help in the form of Millie Ridgeway, but there was only so much that a woman could help you do. Unless she was your wife, and Bart hadn't had one of those in a long time.

After several false starts and two or three failed attempts at anything that could be handled in the presence of a lady, most of what could be done was done. Arthur came by in time to go to the dining room and order supper for the three of them; and when food finally arrived Bart was actually seated at the dining table in the suite. By the time the meal was concluded he felt rather like a small boy again being taken care of by his momma; it was all he could do to feed himself. Not only were his ribs sore from the original assault; the constant coughing and sitting upright for hours on end had aggravated everything. Whenever he thought that the worst of the pain was over, he was forced to breathe and the assault on his tolerance began again.

Jasper Finley returned later and the three men put their heads together and tried to figure a way out of this, or at least around the obvious problem. Before Millie left for the night Bart asked for her input, but she had nothing to offer beyond the observation that the ultimate choice had to be his and not her father's.

That's the way the decision to continue playing or not was resolved – it had to be the gambler's choice – he was the one that had been beaten up and threatened with death. Arthur Ridgeway had come to like and trust this newcomer in his life and hoped that Bart would make the right choice for them all.

XXXXXXXX

Seth Johnson was angry but couldn't prove a thing. The 'urgent matter that needed his immediate attention' turned out to be nothing more than a wild goose chase, but he couldn't prove who had set it in motion. All he knew was that this one-day delay had given his opponent an extra day's rest, and anything that helped Bart Maverick hurt him.

Which was the reason he called Raymond into his office on Thursday morning, once he'd gotten back to Cheyenne. The bodyguard entered the boss's domain, not sure of his latest assignment. Seth did not look like a happy man, and Raymond wanted nothing more in life than to keep him happy. "Raymond, have a seat." The words struck fear into his heart; in all the time he'd worked for Johnson he'd never been told to 'sit down.'

"Do you understand what it is I'm trying to accomplish, Raymond?"

"Sure, boss, beat Maverick at poker."

"On the right track, Raymond, but not the whole journey. I'm trying to keep Wyoming a territory so that we can continue to make money and live the good life. I can't do that unless Maverick loses this poker game. Got it?"

Raymond shook his head, willing to do almost anything to make the boss happy again. "Sure, boss."

"So far he's not losing."

"What do you want me to do about it, boss?"

"I want you to take care of it for me, Raymond. Use your imagination. Stop the man from playing poker tonight. Do whatever it takes, but don't kill him. That'll just force Ridgeway to get another gambler to front for him. Take him out to the old Miller place and leave him there. I don't care. Just get rid of him. Understand?"

He really didn't, but he wasn't about to tell the boss that. "Yes sir, boss man. Will do."

' _Take him out to the old Miller place and leave him there'_ stuck in Raymond's head, so that's just what he decided to do. Of course he didn't count on Millie Ridgeway getting in his way, so when he showed up at Bart Maverick's hotel room door and Millie answered, he improvised.

"Come on, Miss Ridgeway, get him up," was the first thing he told her after walking into the room, guns drawn.

She didn't say a word to him, just went over and gently shook the gambler until he opened his eyes and looked at her. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

Raymond answered him. "Time for all good little gamblers to get up."

Bart groaned at the sound of the bodyguard's voice. "Really?" he asked Millie as she helped him sit up.

"I'm sorry, Bart, I thought it was my father," she replied. With a considerable amount of effort she got him on his feet and he turned his bruised and battered face to Raymond.

"Haven't you done enough damage for one week?" The tone was disgusted and sarcastic; he glared at Raymond.

"Let's go, funny boy," the bodyguard ordered. "You too, Miss," as he pointed one of the guns in Millie's direction.

"You don't have to take her, Raymond," the gambler told him. "Leave her be."

"No, I can't do that. She'll tell them where we went."

"She can't tell them if she doesn't know," Bart tried reasoning with him. It was useless.

"Put on your coat and hat, Maverick," Raymond ordered. "And don't try any funny stuff with the pea shooter. Hand it over."

Bart reluctantly removed the derringer from his vest and handed it to Raymond. The simple act of taking something from his pocket and stretching his arm made him wince in pain. When the man with the guns shoved him forward he stumbled and groaned; only Millie grabbing his arm saved him from collapse. She led the way out the door and Bart walked behind her, deliberately putting himself between her and the firearms. Progress down the stairs was slow and his breathing suffered; Millie was made to take the reins on the wagon and Raymond forced Bart into the back with him. "Make a wrong move and the lady gets the bullet," was the threat used to keep him quiet.

They drove out of town and down the road, about ten miles out to the old abandoned Miller homestead. It reminded Bart of the Peters ranch outside of Denver, the one where he and Donnie Monroe had done their dance to the death. Fortunately it was Monroe's death and not Bart's. "Stay put," Bart was told, and he sat inside the wagon while Raymond got Millie down from the front, all the while holding the gun on her lest Maverick get any ideas.

"Your turn," he was told, and he did his best to get out and stay on his feet. When he didn't move fast enough to suit Raymond he was grabbed by the coat and yanked to the ground, where he landed with a distinct 'thud' and had the wind knocked out of him.

Millie rushed to help him up but Raymond grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Bart couldn't breathe and collapsed back against the wheel of the wagon; he did his best to remain upright. "Cut it out, gamblin' man."

"He can't breathe – can't you see that? What did you do to him?" It's was Millie's turn to protect Bart, and she did just that, stepping in front of him just as Raymond raised his gun to hit him. The bodyguard stopped just in time and Millie turned to face Bart and threw her arms around him, once again helping to hold him up.

"Walk that away," and the gun pointed at the old dilapidated barn. Millie placed Bart's arm around her shoulders and helped him make his way to the structure. It was cold and damp and dark; once or twice Raymond pushed Bart forward, since the gambler wasn't moving fast enough to suit the gunman. As soon as they got inside Millie tried to help Bart lean against the bales of hay piled up; as he turned his back Raymond raised the gun butt and brought it down across the back of his head. Bart dropped as if shot and Raymond laughed. Millie was terrified of what else he might do, but he'd succeeded in causing enough damage for one afternoon and simply walked leisurely back to the wagon and left them there.

XXXXXXXX

Arthur and Jasper arrived at the hotel and found – an empty suite. No Bart, no Millie, and no clue. "What do we do now?" Jasper asked.

"I'm going to find Millie and Bart. You go to the poker game and see what you can do about getting this put off."

Jasper Finley hurried up to room 346 as Arthur Ridgeway went back downstairs to see the front desk clerk.

"Yes sir, I saw Miss Millie and Mr. Maverick leave with Mr. Johnson's Raymond about three hours ago. None of 'em looked too happy."

"Did you see where they went?"

"Yes sir, they all got in a wagon and headed out of town – south, I believe. Haven't seen 'em since."

Arthur scrambled into his buggy and took off down the street, south. The only thing out that way, besides the road to Fort Collins and Greeley, was the old Miller farm. Why would Raymond take them out there, if not to kill them? Fear rose up in Arthur Ridgeway's throat and threatened to strangle him. He couldn't lose Millie too, not after Arthur Junior's death years earlier. And what about the gambler? Bart's only sin had been trying to help him hold on to his dream. He touched the horse with the buggy whip and took off south as fast as they could go.

XXXXXXXX

Jasper was surprised to find Morgan Edwards in suite 346, as well as Seth Johnson. He explained the situation and Seth quietly stroked his chin. "I don't see there's much we can do, Jasper," Seth drawled. "If Maverick's not here on time he forfeits. We already stated that in the rules we all agreed to when we were setting this thing up."

Jasper's face fell; that was the main idea, he assumed, the forfeiture by Arthur's proxy. Just then Morgan spoke up. "Hold on there, Seth, we agreed to vote if there was a questionable action to take. I should think this situation requires that vote. Do we want to delay the game one more night in order to locate the missing player?"

"There's only three of us here to vote. We know how this goes," Johnson stated.

"Do we?" Morgan asked. "Let's vote."

"Alright, Morgan, all those in favor of delaying the next round of the poker game twenty-four hours raise their hands."

Jasper's hand went up, but to Seth Johnson's surprise so did Morgan Edwards's. "Morgan, what are you doing?" Jasper had to ask the younger man.

"What I should have done a while ago," Morgan answered.

Seth glared at the pair of them. "Fine," he spit out. "We are delayed for twenty-four hours. Game to resume tomorrow at five p.m." He threw the deck of cards he'd been playing with down on the poker table and stalked out.

Jasper turned to Morgan. "Watch your back, son. You just released the snake."

XXXXXXXX

Millie knew he was alive; the first thing he did when she rolled him over onto his back was groan. "Bart, are you alright?" Another groan and a hand reached up to rub his head.

"Raymond?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Raymond," she answered. "How's your head?"

"Hurts." He was getting tired of saying that word.

"Can you get up?"

His first inclination was to say 'sure' but he wasn't certain about that. "With your help."

Millie knew she didn't have enough strength to pull him up, so she got down to the floor and draped his arm around her shoulders, then helped him to stand up with her. He leaned on her heavily and groaned again, then shook his head in disbelief. "How do I get into these things?" he wondered out loud.

"This isn't the first time, is it?" She assumed it not to be, from his reactions.

"No, but you're a lot better looking than the last person I was in a barn with."

"What do we do now?"

"Now, Miss Ridgeway, we walk."


	13. Yes or No

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 13 – Yes or No

Neither of them had any idea how far they'd walked. It was slow going; Bart couldn't catch his breath and they had to stop periodically. One thing was certain - they'd never get back to Cheyenne in time for Bart to play poker.

"I'm so sorry, Bart – I never would have opened the door if I'd known it wasn't my father."

"I know, Millie. There's nothin' we can do now. Maybe they'll find a way to get another delay."

"Maybe." She didn't hold out much hope for that. They walked on for a while before she said again, "Bart?"

"Hmmmm?"

"If the poker game's over, will you leave Cheyenne?"

He gave that some thought before he answered. "Not for a while. Not with these ribs. I can't do much of anything on my own right now."

Impulsively she told him "You could go with us."

"I could." It was a statement, not a question.

"Would you?"

"You don't need me around, Millie."

She stepped in front of him and stopped. "I don't NEED anybody around. I want you around."

It would be easy to go somewhere else in Wyoming with Millie and Arthur. He'd have enough money with the game over, and for a moment he was tempted. Especially when she stood right in front of him, the way she was now, and looked at him the way she was looking. It would be so easy – he only had to bend down slightly to touch her lips and kiss her.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. She wasn't the first woman to tempt him with a kiss. In her entire life Millie Ridgeway had only kissed Morgan Edwards, and this was different. The kiss with this man was tender, and passionate, and romantic. He wrapped her in his arms and the pain didn't matter. She was warm and pliant, and she fit nicely in the space that had been empty for a long time.

Just as he was about to pull her closer to him and kiss her again he heard something in the distance. At first he wasn't sure but he finally recognized it as the sound of a horse and buggy. Unless it was Seth Johnson, they were about to be found. He kissed her before letting go his hold on her.

By the time Arthur found them they were almost halfway back to Cheyenne. They were dusty and tired and Bart looked like he'd rolled on the ground. Arthur handed the buggy reins to his daughter and helped Bart get in, then boosted Millie up and climbed in himself before taking back the reins.

"It was Raymond, wasn't it?" he asked them.

Millie nodded. "It was my fault. Bart was asleep and I opened the door without thinking it might be someone besides you. Obviously it was Raymond."

"Did he hurt you?"

This time she shook her head. "No, not me. He hit Bart when he got us into the barn."

"You alright, boy?"

Right now Bart was just relieved they didn't have to walk any further. "What was the point?" he asked Arthur.

"There's a provision to the agreement. Non-arrivals are considered forfeits and the game is over."

Bart wasn't happy to think of everything he'd already suffered, just to be 'evicted' from the game. "So we're out?"

"According to the guidelines we agreed to, yes. But you never know with Jasper. He just might work a miracle yet."

The rest of the ride back to Cheyenne was silent – Millie feeling guilty, Bart disgruntled, Arthur hoping against hope. Almost as soon as they arrived at the hotel Jasper Finley appeared and couldn't hide the smile on his face. "Thank God you found them." The word 'alive' was unspoken.

"Raymond took them and left them out at the Miller place. What happened at the poker game?"

The smile temporarily left Jasper's face. "Seth called for a forfeit, just as we expected. What we didn't expect was what happened next."

"Please, Uncle Jasper, what?" Millie was anxious to know if she'd ruined everything.

"Morgan Edwards was there and called for a vote to delay the game for twenty-four hours."

Millie's face fell. "Oh."

The smile returned to Jasper's. "That's what I thought, too," he explained. "But Morgan voted for the delay. Bart, you're still in the game."

A look of relief crossed three faces. Finally Bart spoke up. "Why, Jasper?"

"I don't know, son, but it doesn't matter. You've still got a shot."

XXXXXXXX

"Raymond, what happened?" Seth was exasperated and angry, but it was hard to stay that way with Raymond for very long.

The big man was unsure what the boss meant. "I did just what you told me to, boss. I took them out to the Miller place and left 'em there. They should still be walkin' back."

Seth Johnson sighed. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like if he had a different bodyguard. This was one of those times.

Raymond, I didn't mean . . . . . . oh never mind." It wasn't going to get him anywhere, anyway. Might as well just forget it. "I want you to take care of something now. Something I should have had you do before."

"Yes boss?"

"Go kill Maverick for me."

"How, boss?"

Did he have to explain everything to the bodyguard? "Any way you want, Raymond. I don't care. Just kill him. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. I don't care. Before five o'clock tomorrow. Kill him as in 'dead'."

"How about Miss Millie?"

"What? No, don't kill Millie Ridgeway. Just the gambler. And come back and let me know when it's done. Understand?"

"Yes boss."

XXXXXXXX

Arthur took Millie home to change clothes and Jasper sent for his 'manservant' to help Bart bathe and do the same. Next on the agenda was supper, and all four met in the dining room of the hotel.

"You look like you feel better," Millie commented to Bart as they drank coffee.

"I do, thanks," came the reply. "Jasper, have any idea why the support from Morgan?"

"Only what he said," Jasper offered. "When I asked him what he was doing he told me he was doing what he should have done a long time ago. I assume he meant support Arthur rather than Seth."

"About time," Millie remarked. "We might not be in this situation if he'd supported you from the beginning, dad."

Ridgeway shook his head. "At least he finally stepped up."

"Has he? Or is there something in it for him?" Bart asked. "I don't know him well enough to know."

Millie jumped in to answer. "The old Morgan would have done it unselfishly. This new Morgan – I don't know. I think there's something in it for him."

Bart looked at her dubiously. "You, maybe?"

"Not in this lifetime or any other," Millie shook her head, as if to emphasize her answer. "We're beyond over."

This time her father spoke up. "Does Morgan know that?"

The young woman turned to face her father. "He should. I made it pretty clear." She folded her hands in her lap and added, "When I thought the poker game was over and we were going to leave Cheyenne I asked Bart to go with us."

"Oh." Her father returned the gaze. "Well, that would be fine with me."

Bart spoke up. "I didn't say yes."

"You didn't say no, either," Millie pointed out.

"She has a point, son."

"It's a moot point, Arthur. The game's not over. You're not leaving town."

"It will end, Bart, soon, and you'll have to give me an answer," Millie pointed out.

The gambler reached over and covered her hand with his. "Not today, Millie. Not today."


	14. Fear and Loathing in Cheyenne

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 14 – Fear and Loathing in Cheyenne

"I want to go back out there." Bart was adamant on the subject.

"But why? We didn't leave anything there." Millie couldn't understand his insistence on a return trip to the abandoned Miller ranch.

"I want to see the place when I don't have a gun pointed at me."

"You should be resting. You had a hard time when we were walking."

"That's because I couldn't breathe. I don't have to walk back out there."

"We can take the buggy. But not tonight. In the morning. Alright?"

He reluctantly agreed. "In the morning."

"Come on, I'm putting you to bed." Now it was Millie's turn to be firm about something.

"Will you sit with me a while?" He didn't want her to leave yet.

"Yes."

"And tuck me in?"

"No," she laughed. "I'm not your mama." From the look on his face she knew she'd struck a nerve.

"No, you're not," he told her. A sigh. Then "I miss her sometimes."

"She's gone?"

He nodded. "When I was five."

She looked at him with understanding. "I was fourteen when my mother died. Is your father – "

"Alive? Oh yeah, pappy's alive and kicking. Still playing poker and chasing girls." He chuckled and then got serious. "But it's never been the same since momma died. Part of his soul went with her. Mine too."

"Of course it did. You were only five years old."

"I guess. It never seemed to bother Bret as much."

Millie watched him as he got into bed, carefully. His ribs still hurt terribly, and the long walk and inability to catch his breath didn't help any. "Your brother?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. Beau's our cousin. Named for Pappy. His father's our Uncle Bentley."

"Are you sure it didn't bother your brother? Or did you just not see it bother him?"

"Hmmmm. Good question. Maybe not. He had to take me everywhere with him, and I was all of five. Maybe I didn't see it."

"Maybe he didn't let you."

"Yeah." He yawned. "Guess I am tired. It's a lot to think about."

"It's always a lot to think about." She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. He grabbed her arms and pulled her down into a proper 'good-night' kiss. "I'll lock your door on the way out. Can you make it downstairs for breakfast in the morning?"

"Sure. Come by and get me." He closed his eyes. "Night."

"Good-night, Bart." And she was gone.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning he was sore from the walk but his ribs were a little less painful. If he was very careful he could actually draw a breath without a stabbing pain. He managed to get up by himself and was on the way to being dressed when the knock came on the door. He carefully drew his gun and called out "Who's there?"

"Millie Ridgeway," came the answer. When he opened the door he was relieved to find just Millie – no Raymond lurking in the hall behind her.

"I see you learned from my mistake," she told him.

"The hard way – years ago." He holstered the gun. "Come in."

"I'm surprised to find you semi-functional," she laughed. "After that walk I assumed you'd still be flat on your back."

"It's hard to keep a Maverick down. I'm almost ready."

"Good. I'm starving. I brought the buggy in case you were still determined to go out to the Miller's place."

"I am. I have to stop at that gun store down the street. I need to replace the derringer Raymond took." He still didn't feel comfortable enough to put the shoulder holster back on yet, but he wanted a derringer just in case. He'd rather have the one Bret gave him; he held little hope of recovering that one from the bodyguard.

With some effort he put his coat on and ushered Millie out the door, locking it behind him. They were the only ones in the dining room and ordering and eating breakfast was quick. They walked to the gun shop and Bart found what he was looking for – almost an exact replica of the Remington from Bret. He liked the weight and the feel of the gun. Paying for it, then loading and pocketing the weapon, took but a few more minutes. Back to the horse and buggy. Bart managed to help Millie get in, then grimaced and followed. He probably shouldn't have, but he kept the reins and control of the horse.

By the time they reached the abandoned ranch it was mid-morning. Bart wasn't any more sure what they were looking for than Millie, he just felt like he needed to see everything for himself. His instincts had always served him well in the past and he was going to trust this one.

Millie sat in the buggy for a while but finally got down and joined him in the barn. He was leaning against a hay bale concentrating on something known only to him. "Bart? What are you doing?"

He didn't answer her right away. "Trying to figure something out."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Hmmmm? Oh, no. It doesn't make sense, that's all. Why bring us all the way out here? Why not just kill me and get it over with? There's a piece missing here and I don't know what it is."

"I think I can tell you. It's in the original agreement for the game."

"Which was?"

"That if one of the two primary opponents or their proxies died or was incapacitated their representative had the right to replace them – if you died, father could contract with somebody else to represent him."

"Yes but who? Bret's in jail, Beau's married, Dandy's otherwise engaged - ah, Doc! That's what Seth Johnson's afraid of. He knows that Doc Holliday's a friend of mine and Doc's a 'more difficult' poker player to keep happy. That's gotta be the reason Raymond didn't just kill me. My insurance policy's named Doc Holliday!"

"Yes but what guarantee is there that Doc Holliday would take the job?" Millie asked.

"You're joking, right? Five thousand dollars with the chance to make more? Doc would be here as fast as he could get here. And if Johnson tried anything it'd be very simple – Doc'd shoot him."

She was perplexed Bart seemed so satisfied. Nothing drove the man crazy faster than not seeing all the pieces to the puzzle – and he thought he had the last one.

He stood upright slowly and was pleased to be able to do so without too much pain. "Come on, we can go back now." He took her arm and guided her out to the buggy. Bart felt like he finally saw the whole picture – as long as the threat of Doc Holliday hung over Seth Johnson's head, at least he was relatively safe. Then the thought struck him – what if Johnson's desire to be the winner overrode his fear of Doc's guns?

XXXXXXXX

Raymond didn't debate – the boss wanted Maverick dead, the boss would get Maverick dead. Only one problem – he couldn't kill the gambler if he couldn't find him, and so far Raymond was having no luck. He finally decided the best thing to do was wait at 'Genevieve's' and Maverick would have to show his face eventually. So it was three drinks later that he saw the Ridgeway buggy making its way up Main Street and he found his way to the doors of the saloon to watch.

Maverick got out first – Raymond was surprised that he moved as well as he did – he knew the gambler's ribs were broken and how painful that would be – and then helped Millie Ridgeway out. He saw the grimace on Maverick's face and knew the truth – the man was in pain; just trying to hide it. Both parties walked down the sidewalk in the direction of Doctor Morris's office. That was perfect – it gave Raymond time to get upstairs to the roof and take care of the boss's personal pest when he returned to the hotel.

Raymond climbed the back stairs two at a time and exited to the roof balcony, taking up a position at the corner. Now to sit and wait – what went down the street had to come back up. _'Patience, Ray,_ _patience,_ ' he thought to himself. Very soon he would be able to employ the most accomplished skill he had – killing people.


	15. It Had to be You

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 15 – It Had to be You

"Well, things seem to be progressing. Have you been resting as much as possible?" Dr. Morris asked as he rewrapped Bart's ribs.

"Uh, Doc – "

"Do I have to go out there and ask Millie?"

"I've done what I could. That's the best answer I can give you."

Doctor Morris laughed. "In other words, no. Don't worry, son, that's the answer I get out of almost everyone. Just remember what happens if they don't heal properly. Now go ahead and get dressed. Need help with that shirt?"

Bart managed to get his shirt back on without the doctor interceding. That was followed by the vest, tie and finally coat.

Doc Morris watched him and nodded his approval. "Better range of motion than a few days ago. Not bad, considering. Come back in and we'll check it again."

Bart nodded and finished with his tie. Hat on his head, Remington in his pocket. He smiled. "Thanks, Doc." He reached for the door and the doctor stopped him.

"None of my business – but – getting close to Millie Ridgeway?"

"Sort of. Why?"

"Tread lightly there, would you? She was really hurt when she broke it off with Morgan Edwards. She's a good girl – she needs a man who's gonna be there for her. Just a word to the wise."

Bart took no offense at the remarks; obviously a gambler was not inclined to stay in one place too long. He thought of his cousin; Beau was the exception to the rule. Even at that Beau still roamed from time to time, when staying still got to be too much.

"Sure, Doc. Thanks."

This time Bart opened the door. Millie was waiting for him, smiling as always. Once again he took notice of how pretty she was, especially with the smile that lit up her whole face. It would be hard not to fall in love with her, even if he tried.

"All done?" she asked.

"Yep, let's go." He opened the door for her and they walked out onto the sidewalk, heading back up the street towards the hotel.

They hadn't gone more than ten feet when the sound of "Millie! Bart! Wait up!" could be heard. It was Morgan. He came running up behind them, from further down the street.

"Morgan," Bart acknowledged. "Heard you provided the deciding vote last night. Thanks for that."

"My pleasure," Morgan answered. "Are you two alright? I assume it was Raymond that took you."

"Yes, it was Raymond," Millie offered. "We know what Seth was trying to accomplish. I'm sure he never expected you to disagree with him."

"I couldn't go along with it, Millie. Why take you, too? You have nothing to do with all this."

"I was in Bart's room, Morgan. I answered the door."

Edward's face fell as he realized what Millie was implying, even though it wasn't true. "Oh. I didn't know that. I'm sorry, I thought – "

"That I was still pining away for you?" she asked ironically.

"Millie – " Bart started, then turned toward Morgan. "She was there to make sure I was alright, Morgan, not for any other reason. It's not easy to manage on your own with broken ribs."

"Yeah," came Edwards reply. "Sorry about that. Seth's ideas about how to do things is different than mine."

"Since when?" This from Millie again.

Bart picked that exact moment to stumble and almost fall; Morgan, walking between Bart and his former fiancée, made a grab for the gambler's arm and missed, just as a shot rang out from the rooftop of 'Genevieve's Dance Hall.' The bullet, meant for Bart Maverick, struck Morgan Edwards instead and he plunged forward onto the ground. Millie screamed and Bart grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall, stepping in front of her as he pulled his gun. The assassin had already fled.

XXXXXXXX

Raymond pulled the trigger just as his target fell and shot the wrong man. He knew there would be hell-to-pay for his mistake and bolted the rooftop immediately. The thought crossed his mind that the boss wouldn't be happy with him for missing Maverick and hitting his ally; maybe this was as good a time as any to get out of town for a while. He took the back stairs again and grabbed his horse, tied up behind the saloon just in case. And got the hell out of Cheyenne.

XXXXXXXX

At the sound of a gunshot on Main Street everyone came running, including Doc Morris. Bart held Millie up against the wall by sheer force of will, lest there be any more shooting to endanger her, as the doctor reached the body and checked the entry wound. He looked up at Bart and shook his head, then turned Edwards over onto his back. There was nothing to be done; Morgan was already gone.

Bart grabbed Millie and pulled her close as she sobbed into his chest. He was sure this was courtesy of Raymond and Seth; but he knew Morgan Edwards hadn't been the intended target. Whether the sheriff was on Seth Johnson's payroll or not, this was one crime that he would have to investigate. An innocent man was dead.

XXXXXXXX

"Morgan have any family?" That was Bart's question to Arthur Ridgeway later that afternoon.

"None left," came the reply. "I'll take care of everything. You take care of Millie."

"She might not want anything to do with me, Arthur."

"Because Morgan was shot instead of you? Nonsense. That wasn't your fault and she knows it. This is all on Johnson's head. And Raymond's. I'm sure Seth gave the order and Raymond was just carrying it out. Take care of my daughter, please Bart."

The gambler nodded. "I'll do my best, Arthur."

They were in the Ridgeway home, a more modest house than most people of the same social status would have. Bart brought Millie home as Morgan's body was moved to Doctor Morris' office; after the initial outburst on the sidewalk she hadn't said a word or made a sound. She was sitting in the parlor now, eyes downcast and a handkerchief in her hands, and Bart headed that way. He sat carefully on the ottoman in front of her chair and waited to see if she'd even acknowledge him there. After a few minutes she finally looked up at him and attempted to smile; it didn't work.

"Anything I can get you?"

Once again she attempted the smile – this time it was slightly more successful. "No, but thanks."

"Millie – "

She put her hand up in a 'stop' gesture. "You don't have to say anything, Bart. I'm alright. It was just such a shock; I was right next to him. One minute he was there and the next - " She sighed, then looked at him carefully. "It could have been you."

"Maybe that would have been better," he told her.

"Is that what you think?"

"Sometimes, yeah. For you, probably. Morgan loved you. He was disappointed when he thought we were more than friends."

"We are," she answered softly. "I didn't love him anymore. I hadn't for a long time. He knew that. I can't love two men at the same time."

So there it was, out in the open. "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know, Bart. That's up to you."

"I'm still just your father's hired cardsharp, Millie."

"No you're not, and you know that. Do you have feelings for me?"

He looked away from her as he answered. "I'd be lying if I said no."

She'd just lost the man she was once going to marry, yet she felt strangely happy. Bart admitted he had feelings for her. Morgan was her past – maybe Bart was her future. "You've got a poker game to win."


	16. George Henry, Sir

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 16 – George Henry, Sir

At four forty-five that evening Bart and Jasper were both in room 346. Seth Johnson came hurrying in sans bodyguard and looking disheveled. He acknowledged their presence with a simple "Gentlemen" and hurried past them, as if meeting someone at the other end of the room. A few minutes later a slick-looking gunslinger wandered in and headed straight for Johnson. Shortly afterwards Deacon Cain arrived with the cash box and a grim look fixed on his face.

"Bart, Jasper, sorry to hear about Morgan. He started out right, just went wrong somewhere. What happened?"

"Looks like it was supposed to be me, Deacon. I tripped on something and stumbled; Morgan tried to catch me and caught the bullet instead. You notice no Raymond here for Seth? I'd put my money on him as the shooter."

"That sounds like Seth. I guess that's the new bodyguard, eh?"

Jasper answered that one. "Came in right before you did, Deacon. Sure looks that way."

Deacon turned to Bart. "Millie Ridgeway was there?"

"Yeah."

"How's she taking it?"

"She's upset. Her and Morgan – you know. It happened right in front of her." After a moment he added, "She'll be alright."

"I'm sure she will. She's a strong girl." He stopped as Seth started to cross the room towards them. The gunslinger stayed at the far end of the room.

"Gentlemen, in light of what happened this afternoon, I believe we should postpone the game until Mr. Edwards is buried. That's only two more days. Can we agree?"

Bart nodded. "I have no problem with that."

Jasper was quick to concur. "Out of respect," he said.

Seth started back towards the new bodyguard until Bart stopped him. "Mr. Johnson, I see you're missing Raymond. Have any idea where he is?"

"No, Mr. Maverick, I do not. And should he appear at some point he will find he no longer has a job."

Bart couldn't resist one more question. "Is that because he hit the wrong target today?"

"I don't believe that deserves an answer, sir. Good night." Seth Johnson stalked back to the far end of the room.

Deacon picked up the cash box. "Well, I'll be back after we give Morgan a send-off. Gentlemen, try to stay healthy." He tipped his hat and left the suite.

"Bart, I'm going back to the Ridgeway house. Are you coming with me?"

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I'm the reason Morgan's dead."

"Nonsense, son. That's the reason he's dead," and Jasper pointed at Johnson. "Come with me. We can pay our respects, then come back and have supper downstairs. Unless you have other plans."

"Me?" Bart asked. "No plans beyond poker."

"Good, then it's settled. Come, I need a drink."

XXXXXXXX

When they got to the Ridgeway house there were a lot of people already there. "I don't think this was such a good idea, Jasper." Bart was uneasy about 'intruding.'

"You worry too much, Bart. We're here just for Millie - nobody else matters one wit."

"Right."

She was still in the parlor, standing by the fireplace, wearing a different dress than this afternoon; that one had Morgan's blood all over it and was burned as soon as it was taken off. She was pale and weary-looking, but there was no trace of tears. She saw Bart and smiled, and walked over to him as quickly as she could remove herself from the people standing around her. The only ones Bart knew were Doc Morris and Andrew Watson.

"What happened? To the game, I mean," Millie asked as she greeted him.

"Delayed until Morgan's . . . . . . . buried. Johnson's suggestion."

"Only slightly hypocritical," she pronounced.

"He's playing dumb, says Raymond's gone. That's probably true. He's already got a new man with him, looks like a gunslinger. Don't have a name yet. How are you?"

She put a hand on his chest and leaned into him slightly. "I'm alright. How are you feeling?"

"Like my head's gonna explode. Other than that – guilty."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Guilty?"

"Morgan."

"It's not your fault!"

"Yeah, it is. He wouldn't be dead if – "

"If Seth Johnson hadn't tried to have you killed," she interrupted. "You can't blame yourself for that. You had nothing to do with it."

"You may be the only one that believes that," he responded.

"No, Bart, I'm not. Everyone here knows what happened, and why it happened. Even the sheriff is looking for Raymond and talking to Seth. You said he's got a new bodyguard. Does that mean he's going to come after you again?"

Bart sighed. "I don't know. Probably not before Morgan's buried. You have to stay away from me until this is over."

She shook her head 'no.' "Not a chance, Mr. Maverick. You're still not well. And I'm not leaving you by yourself. I don't think Seth Johnson's that reckless, everybody's watching him now."

"Let's hope so."

XXXXXXXX

Two days later the service for Morgan was held and Bart, against his better judgement, escorted Millie to the graveyard. He would have stayed at the hotel, nursing his now three-day-old headache, but didn't want her to face it alone. It wasn't easy for him; even after all this time Caroline's burial remained foremost in his mind.

Millie knew something significant was bothering him and assumed it was what he considered his part in Morgan's death. She didn't know much about his marriage, other than he'd had one, and he wasn't inclined to explain. That, combined with the never-ending pain in his head, is what drove him back to the hotel rather than the Ridgeway house after the service. Which is where he found Seth Johnson's newest employee waiting for him.

As soon as he unlocked the door he knew there was someone in the room. "I've been waiting for you," the voice told him.

"And do you always wait in other people's hotel rooms?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Generally, when it suits my purpose," came the expected reply. "Come in and sit down, Mr. Maverick."

' _Dandy, I'm never working with or for you again, as long as I live,'_ he thought. _'Which may not be too much longer.'_ Then _'would he tell me to sit down if he was gonna kill me right now?'_

"I came to deliver a message. You don't have to worry about Raymond anymore. He won't bother you again."

' _Sounds like Raymond's gone to that big boot hill in the sky,_ ' was Bart's next thought. "Oh? And will it be you bothering me instead? Do you have a name or should I just call you sir?"

"Mr. Jonson's right. You are funny. Name's Henry. George Henry. But you can call me sir."

"Well, Mr. Henry, sir, is that all you came to tell me? If it is, I appreciate the message. I'm gonna lay down now – head's killin' me."

George Henry stood up and pointed his Colt at the gambler. "I'll make this short. Just because Raymond's gone doesn't mean the promise has changed. You lose, you live. You win, you'll be lookin' over your shoulder for me. And I don't miss." He holstered his gun and walked past Bart. "Good talkin' to ya, Mr. Maverick. See you around." And Bart's uninvited guest was gone.


	17. Round Three

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 17 – Round Three

Lying in bed, in a darkened room, served its purpose as a nap, but not a headache remedy. When he woke it was almost four o'clock and it was time to play poker. At last. He got dressed and took desperate measures - after three days of continuous pain he couldn't stand much more. He went to the dining room and ordered the strongest black coffee they could find – with a shot of rye in it. It might as well have been medicine, because he hated the taste, but a long time ago Uncle Bentley taught he and Bret the remedy for head pain that worked when nothing else did.

He drank it, tempted to make terrible faces the whole time, and quickly got another cup of coffee to try to wash away the taste of the rye. He laughed at himself; if Millie could see him now she'd probably call him a hypocrite. The headache started to ease by the second cup of coffee, and that was the important thing. At least he could play poker with a head that worked – sort of.

He was thinking about George Henry. Raymond didn't worry him perhaps as much as he should have – George Henry did. Nevertheless he managed to get himself back up the two flights of stairs to room 346 just as Jasper and Deacon arrived. So far there was no Seth or George. When Deacon excused himself for a moment, Bart told Jasper about George Henry's visit.

"Just sitting there in your hotel room?"

"Yep, just sittin' there waitin' for me. Told me Raymond wouldn't bother me anymore."

"Dead, most likely," Finley offered.

"I would assume so. Then he reminded me of Seth's promise and said he didn't miss."

"Bart, you have to go to the sheriff with that threat."

"Why, Jasper? I can't prove it's even a threat, just a statement of fact. I need to win this poker game."

"And then do what?"

"Get the hell out of Cheyenne."

"What about Millie?"

Bart chuckled and then remembered why he shouldn't. "Won't do Millie any good if I'm dead."

"What good will it do her if you run?"

"I can send for her, Jasper."

"Bart, Millie's not the kind of girl you send for. Millie's the kind of girl you marry. Are you willing to marry her?"

"Well, I . . . . uh . . . . well . . . . . uh . . . ."

Jasper shook his head. "That's what I thought. She's in love with you, Bart."

"Then I won't leave. I'll figure something out."

"Does that mean you're in love with her?"

Was he? He thought of Caroline, and Rose. He still loved Caroline; he always would. But she was gone, and he knew it. She had a hold on his heart, but in a different way. And what about Rose? Last time he heard from her there was a new man in her life – nothing serious yet, but you could never be sure. He'd set her free, after all. Did he love Millie? Yes. Enough to stick around Cheyenne for a while? Yes; his ribs were broken, anyway, and he shouldn't be moving around. Enough to marry her? That's where it got sticky. He knew Jasper was right; Millie was the kind of girl you married.

Cheyenne was growing. Wyoming would be a state, sooner rather than later; Cheyenne would probably be the capital. Arthur Ridgeway was beyond wealthy, and he liked Bart. The gambler couldn't do much better for a father-in-law. Marriage to Millie meant wealth, and power, and eventual control of the Ridgeway Ranch; you could fit the Double C in Dry Springs into a small corner and still have land left over; and a beautiful, loving wife. There was that word again – wife. Much as he loved Millie Ridgeway right now, he wasn't ready for a wife.

Jasper Finley had been watching him, and saying something, and Bart missed most of it. "I'm sorry, Jasper, what did you ask me?"

"I said, son, you have to make a decision. Marry Millie Ridgeway and stay here, or leave without her. Then I asked you again if you love her."

"Yes, Jasper, I love her. But that's all I know. Right now I need to play a poker game. Where's Seth? And what happened to Deacon? Where is everybody?"

Just as he finished with his questions Deacon, Seth and George Henry came through the door. Deacon set the cash box down on the poker table and unlocked it, handing out the money bags as he explained. "Some cowboy got drunk over at 'Genevieve's' and decided he wanted the poker funds just as I came up the stairs – if it hadn't been for Seth and his man we would have been playing for matchsticks."

Johnson took the bag Deacon handed him and pulled the key from his pocket. "Just protecting my interests," he explained. "This changes nothing."

"You're right," Bart agreed as he rescued his own key and looked right at Seth. "This changes nothing. We've wasted enough time. Are you ready to play, Mr. Johnson?"

"Always, Mr. Maverick." He jerked his head towards the door. "Mr. Henry, why don't you stay outside, just in case?" At that, the gunslinger nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I wasn't able to get a bartender for tonight. We'll have to make do ourselves."

A knock on the door. This time it was the lass that greeted them when the game started, over a week ago. She was dressed in her regular clothes, as one of the dancers at 'Genevieve's.' "Sorry to be late, I just got out of Gen's - hope you all don't mind." She picked up a whiskey bottle and glasses and brought them to the table. Jasper looked up from his chair and grinned.

"Oh, it was me, boys. I found out we weren't going to have a bartender and decided we needed someone. Rosie was free for the evening and certainly knows how to pour drinks. And, I might add, is a whole lot prettier to look at than Gerald ever was. We won't need that third glass, Rosie. Bart only drinks coffee."

Just as Rosie was done pouring whiskey for Seth and Jasper and was about to go back to the bar, Bart grabbed her hand. "Leave the glass, please, Rosie, and bring me a cup of coffee and a shot of rye." He saw the odd looks he got from the three men and explained: "Old family remedy for a headache that just won't leave. My Uncle Ben swears by it."

Jasper chuckled. "Seems a little odd. Why not just take aspirin?"

Bart didn't smile as he answered. "Can't. Got an allergy to it." He saw the flicker of interest that passed across Seth Johnson's face. _'Be careful what you put in your mouth from now on,'_ his brain told him. _'Too much interest for idle curiosity.'_

Deacon brought the attention back to the cards. "Gentlemen, five-hundred dollar ante, please."

And the game was off and running.

XXXXXXXX

It took almost fourteen hours to break Jasper Finley's run, but break him they did. As Jasper saw the last of his funds swept off the table and into Bart's hands, he put both his hands on the table, palms up. "These hands are bare, gentlemen. No more funds for poker. It's between you two, now. For the future of the state," here he looked at Bart, "or the territory," and then shifted his gaze to Seth. "Her fate is in your hands. May the best poker player win." Jasper got up from the table and went to the other end of the room, to Rosie and the bar.

Bart shifted in his chair, glad that they were done for the night. Another night of sitting in one position and playing cards and the ribs on his right side felt like they were about to explode.

"Mr. Johnson, Mr. Maverick enough for the night. To resume this evening at five o'clock. I assume Mr. DeCorda will be here to take over."

"Yes, Manny DeCorda is available for tomorrow." Seth turned to Bart. "Well, Mr. Maverick, I hope you remember what we discussed the night we met."

"Don't worry, Mr. Johnson, I was recently reminded of your remarks on our first meeting. By your very able new employee. I haven't forgotten."

"Until we meet tomorrow, then," Seth Johnson tipped his hat to Bart and handed his money bag to Deacon. He made a show of leaving the room, stopping at the bar to say something to Jasper, and then swiftly exiting. Deacon Cain turned to the gambler.

"What was all that about?" Deacon questioned him.

"Oh, nothing much," came the reply. "Just something concerning my future."

He counted the money before putting it into the money bag. Seventy thousand, three hundred twelve dollars. Over seventeen thousand dollars in his hands if he continued to win. _'Well, that ought to buy Bret's way out of the Abilene jail,'_ Bart thought.

So tonight would be the final round. Maybe life or death. Would he win? Would he run? He couldn't answer any of those questions, and once again he was in pain so bad he almost couldn't breathe. _'Dandy, wherever you are, I hope it was worth it.'_ He trudged down the stairs, back to his room and sleep.


	18. The 'Real' Doc Holliday

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 18 – The 'Real' Doc Holliday

He didn't like knocking on his door. He'd come to that conclusion. Knocking was never good news, only bad. He particularly did not like the knocking on his door right now. He struggled out of bed and took his Colt with him. The person standing at the door looking at him was the last person on the face of the earth he expected. Dressed in black from head to toe, wearing a pocket watch with a long chain and his gun low on his right hip, and sporting a respectable mustache, stood someone he knew very well – his brother Bret, for all the world looking like a slightly bigger version of Doc Holliday.

He held the door open while Bret swaggered into the room, walking just the way Doc moved. Once the door was closed he put down his gun and burst out laughing, then threw his arms around his brother and immediately regretted it. "Ow," was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

"I'll do the hugging," Bret told him, and did. "I heard all about the broken ribs, Brother Bart. That's why I'm here. Some of your friends seem to think you could use a little protection."

Bart was still suppressing a chuckle. "My friends? I didn't know I had any of those. But how? Last I heard you were still in jail in Abilene."

"Naw, got out of there weeks ago. I was in Denver. That's where Dandy Jim found me – seems Arthur Ridgeway and Jasper Finley set about finding Dandy in hopes of finding the REAL Doc – but Doc's in Dodge City. Dandy tracked me down and suggested this. I thought it might work, so here I am."

"Oh, oh, Doc's in Dodge? Sounds like trouble."

"It is. And the worst kind. Female." Bret laughed this time. "That man has more women than the two of us put together. Anyway, since Doc's never been here, Arthur and Jasper thought this might work. As long as I don't do too much talking. Here, I even got one of these." Bret reached into his coat and pulled out a silver flask. "I've been practicing." He tipped the flask up and took a long drink from it, just like he'd been using it for years. "Course let's hope nobody wants any. It's full of water."

Bart started to laugh again and grabbed his ribs. "Stop. It hurts too much. Are you my new bodyguard?"

"Yep. Imposing, aren't I?" Bret stood up and strutted around. He'd scare anybody to death, particularly Seth Johnson. As long as he didn't have to use his gun. "Brother Bart, there's a woman wrapped up in all of this somewhere, isn't there?" He was hoping the answer was yes; it had been far too long for Bart.

"Oh yeah," came the reply. "Millie Ridgeway. Wait till you meet her."

"Arthur's her daddy? Isn't he the big railroad man? And who's Finley?"

"Jasper Finley. A good friend of Arthur's. They're spearheading the drive for statehood. Seth Johnson's against it. He's the one doing the threatening. He's responsible for the shape I'm in – and he's already had one innocent man killed."

Bret grabbed Bart's chin and turned it so that he could see the left eye, which was finally starting to fade color. "What'd he do that I can't see?"

"Not him – his ex-bodyguard. Caught me asleep, just like you did. Only a little less protected. Left his boot print on my ribs."

"Who'd he kill?"

"Millie's ex-fiancée. I didn't do that, don't get any ideas. They were split a long time before I got here. Took a bullet in the back." Bart was hoping that his 'friends' hadn't told Bret who was being shot at.

"So this is all about statehood? How'd you get into it?"

"You mean Dandy didn't share that with you? It's classic Dandy Jim! Listen, I'm starving. How about if 'Doc' and I go to supper? Give everybody a good chance to look at you, spread the word around town. I'll tell you the whole story there."

"You buyin'?"

"You broke?"

"Yep. Sat in jail for three weeks."

"I'm buyin'. Let's go."

XXXXXXXX

"Really? A family emergency in Savanna? As in Georgia? When did Buckley get family in Savanna? Oh, that would be Francine, wouldn't it? That scoundrel! I bet he knew all about this and didn't tell you, did he? I ought to wring his neck!"

Bart set his fork down. "Good luck finding him! Lord only knows where he and Francine are now. Besides, he owed me one after the mess I left him in last time we were in St. Louis."

"That was his own fault," his brother retorted. "If he hadn't tried to sell that gold mine in Comanche territory – "

"Yeah, but he only did that after I got suckered into trading the supply wagons for it." Just as Bart finished his sentence, Jasper Finley appeared in the dining room. Bart looked at Bret and whispered, "Jasper."

Finley came rushing over to the table and Bret stood to greet him. Jasper made a big show of shaking hands and exclaiming "Doc! Doc Holliday! Haven't seen you in a while. Did you come up here to see Bart?"

Bret nodded and played along. "Yes, Jasper. That I did. I heard about some things going on that I didn't like. Won't you join us?"

Jasper happily took 'Doc' up on the offer. He waited until the waitress poured coffee and then spoke quietly. "Good to meet you, Bret. Thanks for coming so quickly. Bart's gonna need you this evening."

"Showdown comin' that quick, huh?" was the question that came back.

"Yes, five o'clock tonight. I've already put the word out that Doc Holliday was in town to see his good friend Bart Maverick. There's only one person that needs to believe it, and I'm sure Seth Johnson won't take an unnecessary chances. He seems to be properly impressed with Mr. Holliday. And you look enough like him to even put the fear of the Lord in me."

"Let's just hope this works," Bart interjected.

"Just exactly why are we enacting this little farce? When you wired that Bart needed my help I assumed it was for something a little more serious than a practical joke."

Bart was shaking his head 'no' but Jasper ignored him. Bret needed to know exactly what he'd gotten mixed up in. "The game is to resolve who controls Cheyenne and the statehood fight. Arthur Ridgeway and I are on one side, Seth Johnson's on the other. We set up rules when we set up the game. Arthur doesn't play poker, so he was allowed a proxy. That's Bart. Seth seems to have ideas about influencing the outcome. He threatened to have Bart killed if he won. Everyone but Seth and Bart has been eliminated, and Seth has a new bodyguard, a gunslinger named George Henry. And Seth has an unhealthy fear of Doc Holliday. Thus the charade."

Bret turned to his younger brother. "When were you gonna tell me this imbecile threatened you?"

Bart smiled brightly. "Not anytime soon. It's not as bad as it sounds."

Now it was Jasper nodding. "Yes it is, Bret. His room's been ransacked, his ribs broken, and the shot that killed Morgan Edwards was meant for Bart. It's as bad as it sounds."

Bret set his knife and fork down on the plate. "And the condemned man ate a hearty meal?"

"I haven't won yet."

Another remark from Jasper. "You will. I've been playing against you. Unless Seth cheats there's no way he can beat you."

"He's got his own dealer for tonight's game," Bart reminded Jasper. "Anything can happen."

"No it can't. You're too good at spotting that kind of thing and you know it." Bret's remark was decisive. "And you know what to do if he cheats. Guns allowed?"

"No," Jasper answered.

"Good. You still have the derringer?"

"Nope. Raymond saw to that. But I bought a new one." He took the derringer out of his vest pocket. It was slightly smaller than the one Bret had given him.

'"And Raymond was the bodyguard that did all the damage?"

"Yep. He's gone – most likely dead." Bart looked at his brother, the 'imitation' Doc. "What are you thinking?"

"That I've got one in my bag. Carry two and just surrender one. At least you'll have some protection. If this Seth is as shifty as he sounds, he's probably been doin' that all along. The idea's to win AND stay alive."

Jasper agreed with Bret. "After what Seth's had done to you, your brother's right. You're gonna be on your own in there tonight; you need some kind of protection. Won't do any good when you beat him if he kills you."

"Alright, you two. Just about time to get out of here. Bret, where's your room? Let's go. I've got a date with a poker game."

Bret shook his head. "If I live to be a hundred, I'll never live this down."

Bart almost laughed again. "No, but maybe I'll be alive to remind you about it."


	19. Pigs, Frogs, Fish and Chickens

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 19 – Pigs, Frogs, Fish and Chickens

Bart walked behind his brother, through the lobby and up the staircase, and watched as the word spread that Doc Holliday was in the hotel. He hoped that Seth Johnson would believe it just as much as everyone else did; it was hard to ignore the tall, imposing figure dressed in black, walking like he owned the world. They went to 'Doc's' room, down the hallway and around the corner from Bart's, and he once again found himself doing his best not to laugh. "What is your problem?" Bret asked as soon as they were behind closed doors.

"I can't help it," Bart answered. "I never knew you watched Doc so closely. You move just like he does. My brother, the gunslinger."

"Yeah, you better hope." Bret dug through his bag until he found what he was looking for; his spare derringer. He handed it to Bart. "Here, turn this one in. Don't want you goin' into that room unarmed."

"Thanks, Brother Bret. I'm not lookin' forward to this, you know. What if I lose?"

"You won't. Not if he's playin' fair. Only two people in the world can beat you - me on a really good day and Pappy. You're not playin' us."

"Thank God. We better go. I want to make sure Johnson knows you're here."

"Alright, son. Let's go play our parts."

XXXXXXXX

Gerald was back tending bar for the remaining players, and Jasper was there having a last drink before leaving the two lethal opponents to battle it out. Manny DeCorda entered with the cash box; Seth and George Henry weren't far behind. Bret made a great show of talking clandestinely with Bart, making sure everyone saw him with the flask. From the stricken look on Johnson's face he'd heard the rumors about the stranger and believed them.

Bart walked over to the bar and handed Gerald his gun belt and derringer. Seth followed suit and then turned to Bart. "You brought a bodyguard tonight." He pointed at 'Doc.'

"Nope. I brought a friend. Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Johnson?"

"No, no, no problem at all. Are you ready to play?"

"That's what we're here for, isn't it?" Bart turned his back on Johnson and pulled Bret aside. "I'm not introducing you. Let him draw his own conclusions. He needs to squirm."

Bret grinned. "I love it when you're evil."

Manny DeCorda finally made himself heard. "Mr. Johnson, Mr. Maverick, time to play. Your money bags, gentlemen." Then he looked at George Henry and Bret. "Time to leave, please."

Bret slapped Bart on the back. "Go get 'em, Maverick." He stalked out of the room and his brother let out a sigh. So far, so good.

Bart sat down at the table, which now seemed remarkably empty, and pulled out the key for the bag. He wondered where they'd be twelve hours from now; if he'd be alive or dead. Right now he just wanted to get it over with.

XXXXXXXX

It was a long night. The cards were falling Bart's way and it seemed that no matter what Seth Jonson did he couldn't keep up. By the next morning his pile of cash was considerably smaller. He'd never been able to recover from the shock of seeing Doc Holliday in the same room and continued to play poorly. By six a.m. it was obvious that the game wasn't going to finish this night and Manny DeCorda called it a session. Once again Bart counted his funds – the ever increasing stack of bills totaled a little over eighty-four thousand dollars. One more night like tonight and the campaign for statehood could swing into high gear.

He locked the bag and handed it to DeCorda. It had been a clean game, shuffled and dealt fairly, and he offered Manny Decorda his hand before collecting his gun belt and Bret's derringer from Gerald. He found a cigar in his coat pocket and lit it as he opened the door to the suite; Bret was just approaching the room. "Is that a victory cigar?" he asked.

"Not yet," his brother answered. "He's stubborn; I'll give him that. But he sure didn't play like himself last night. I think seeing you really shook him up."

"I'll just bet it did. By the way, I met your girl. Sure is a pretty thing. Got a good head on her shoulders, too. Said to tell you she'd be by at two o'clock and you owed her a lunch. Got a plan for that relationship goin' anywhere?"

"Maybe. I need breakfast and coffee. You up for it?"

"Sure." They both laughed at that, 'sure' had always been Bart's favorite word.

Just as they started down the stairs Seth Johnson came hurrying out of 346, and his bodyguard had to run to keep up with him. "Bart, Mr. Maverick, wait. There's something I need to discuss with you."

Bart stopped on the stairs, Bret pointed toward the dining room and kept walking. Johnson hurried over, looking relieved he wasn't forced to encounter one of the few men that actually disturbed his peace. "Not knowing how much longer this game is going to continue, we have a small problem. I have a proposed solution that I'd like to run past you."

"I'm listening," Bart replied. Johnson really seemed unnerved, the way he had all night.

"Manny DeCorda has to leave town today. That leaves me without a dealer of choice, should this game continue past tonight."

"What makes you think it's going to continue?"

"I'm just trying to prepare for the possibility, Mr. Maverick. If it's acceptable to you, I'd like to use Deacon Cain as our dealer through the remainder of the sessions."

"Fine with me, as long as Deacon has no problem with it. Is that all, Mr. Johnson?"

"Just out of curiosity – how long have you known Doc Holliday?"

Bart smiled. Seth bought the subterfuge. "Oh, quite some time. Ever since we played poker in Tombstone. Didn't Morgan tell you all about that before you had him killed?"

"I had nothing to do with Morgan Edwards death. Morgan was a good man. Somewhat misguided when we first met, but he corrected that. And no, we didn't discuss your poker playing in Tombstone. Or your friendship with Doc Holliday, for that matter. That's none of my concern. Good day, Mr. Maverick." And with that Johnson walked past Bart on the stairs, George Henry following obediently like a lap-dog, and on down to the lobby.

Bart sighed and rubbed his ribcage, gingerly. He was always in pain after he sat in one position for hours on end. _'Sure, Seth had nothing to do with Morgan's death. And I'm_ _the Queen of England,'_ he thought. _'Come on, your majesty, your brother's waiting for you downstairs.'_

XXXXXXXX

"What was that about?"

They were drinking coffee, waiting for breakfast to arrive, when Bret asked the question about Seth's interruption.

"Don't know; maybe he just wanted to be sure you were really Doc. His dealer's leaving town; he wanted to know if I would accept Deacon Cain the rest of the match. Deacon was Arthur and Jasper's choice - he's a good man. It's fine with me." He took another swallow of coffee. "So tell me about meeting Millie last night."

"Well, I wandered down to 'Genevieve's' to see what kind of a game I could scare up and found Jasper there with a sweet young thing named Rosie. Does he remind you of Pappy? Anyway, he wanted me to meet Arthur so we rode out to the Ridgeway place. Good folks, no pretenses. At least I didn't have to play Doc all night."

Breakfast came and Bret was glad to see Bart eating more than just toast. Someday he'd understand his brother's eating habits, but not today. "So?" Bart prompted him.

"So, Millie was there, right in the midst of everything. I guess she's really into all this political stuff, just like her father. Watch out, Brother Bart, that one'll run circles around you. She seemed real sweet, and she laughed at all my stories."

"You tellin' her stories? What about?"

"My little brother. What else? If she's gonna get involved with you, she needs to know what she's in for."

Bart groaned. Some of Bret's stories about their childhood were too outrageous to repeat to anyone, especially a girl. Especially a girl you were probably in love with. "Great. Now I can never see her again. Did you tell her about the fish? Or the frogs? Or trying to fly? What did you tell her?"

"I told her about the pigs and the chicken we set on fire."

"We? I had nothing to do with that. That was strictly you and Beau."

"That's not the way I remember it."

The younger brother shook his head. "I told you the next time you told someone that story I'd have to kill you."

"Can't. You need Doc right now."

"Later, Brother Bret. Later."


	20. Expect the Unexpected

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 20 – Expect the Unexpected

Sleep came quickly, but so did the nightmares. He'd hoped those were gone for good; but they seemed to have returned with a vengeance. So he was really glad to wake from them and discover it was almost time to meet Millie for lunch. A quick clean-up and a fresh shirt and he was once again presentable. Just as he was about to leave the room there was a knock on his door, followed by a soft, "Bart, it's Millie."

He opened the door and she practically flew into his arms. He hadn't seen her since the aftermath of Morgan's funeral, and she felt good in his embrace. She was trembling; something wasn't right. "What's wrong, Millie?"

"It's my father, Bart. He's had . . . . a . . . a spell. He's down at Doctor Morris' office right now. Will you come?"

"Of course. Let's go."

They hurried down the stairway and the sidewalk, Millie almost breaking into a run. Dr. Morris was waiting for them, shaking his head. "I told him, Millie, I told him weeks ago that he should tell you, but you know how stubborn your father can be. It's his lungs, from all those years breathing everything the locomotives could spit out. When he gets excited or upset he can't breathe – that's why he was so cognizant of your ribs, Bart. He had an attack and passed out. He's breathing easier now, but I want to keep him here for a while and watch him. You can go in and see him, just don't say anything to upset him. Bart, while I've got you here, I'd like to take another look at those ribs. Do you mind?"

Millie went into the small exam room to see her father and Doc Morris took Bart into the other room. "I wanted to talk to you, Bart, where Millie and her father couldn't hear us."

Something was coming that was not pleasant; that much was certain. Bart had a feeling he knew what it was but he didn't want to be right. "Arthur?"

"Yes. He doesn't want Millie to know. He's dying, Bart. I think the only thing keeping him alive right now is the prospect of your winning the poker game, knowing that the opposition will be gone and Wyoming can become a state. But he'll never live to see it. His biggest concern is Millie and her happiness. He knows she's in love with you, but he doesn't know if you're in love with her. He wants to make sure she's taken care of when he's gone. I'm breaking a patient's confidence by telling you all this, but he's my oldest and dearest friend and there's nothing I can do for him medically. It would ease his mind considerably if he knew that you . . . . . would be around for Millie after he's gone. Is there any possibility of that?"

He made the decision in a split-second. "I'll be here for her, Doc. I'm glad you told me; nobody else'll know. How long does he have?"

"Weeks, maybe months. Hard to say. He likes you a lot, Bart. He trusts you. It'll be easier for him, knowing it's you. And you have my undying gratitude."

He hadn't been sure until the moment he said it, but he knew it was the right decision. He'd win the poker game for her father, and let him realize that his dream for Wyoming would come true; he'd marry the girl for love, and learn to live in one place. This time he wouldn't be afraid to tell Pappy.

XXXXXXXX

Knowing what he did, he went in to see Arthur. "How're your ribs doing?" Millie's father asked.

"Fine," he lied. "Getting better every day. Pretty soon I'll be a real boy again."

Both of the Ridgeway's laughed; Arthur's sounded more genuine than Millie's. "Doc Morris says he can go home. Will you come with us? We can get something to eat at the house."

"Sounds good to me. Arthur, there's something I want to talk to you about, anyway. Let's see if we can get you up and out of here."

With Bart on one side and Millie on the other, they were able to steer Arthur out the door and into the buggy. A few minutes later the procedure was reversed as they unloaded at the Ridgeway house. Millie helped her father get inside and seated comfortably in the parlor, then went to find their housekeeper to prepare a late lunch. Bart stayed with Arthur and waited until he was sure Millie was out of earshot.

"Jasper tells me you beat up Seth pretty good at the game. Your brother must have put the fear of God into him."

"If I didn't know he was my brother I would have sworn he was Doc. Wait till I see Doc and tell him what a good 'Doc Holliday' Bret makes. He'll get a laugh out of it, if nothing else."

"He certainly got here in a hurry. Good thing he was so close."

"I had no idea," Bart told Arthur. "Last I heard he was in Abilene, indisposed. But there's something besides Bret I want to ask you about. Can we switch subjects?"

"Certainly, son. What's bothering you?"

"Your daughter," came the answer. "I'm probably not your first choice as a husband for Millie, but that's what I'd like to be. I'm asking for your permission to ask Millie to marry me."

Arthur was quiet for a few minutes and Bart worried that Doc Morris had misread him. Eventually a smile creased his face and he nodded. "Another man asked me for her hand in marriage and I thought he was perfect for her. Turned out I was wrong. I don't think I am this time. You go right ahead and ask her, son, and if there's a smart bone in that girls' body she'll say yes. I don't suppose you have a ring yet?"

"No sir, that I don't." Whew. The hardest part of the whole decision was over and Bart could breathe easy again. "I haven't gotten that far yet."

"I can solve your problem, if you're interested. I have her mother's ring; Millie always admired it. I didn't give it to Morgan for some reason; maybe I knew it wouldn't last. I'd be happy to let you have it. If you want it, that is."

"I think that would make her happy," the gambler answered. "You're sure now, this meets with your approval? You know what I've been my whole life. What I'll continue to be. I can't promise to be anyone but who I am."

Arthur reached over and patted Bart on the arm. "What you are is just fine, son. All you have to do to make me happy is love her. And you're doing just fine in that department."

Millie's timing was perfect. She came in, carrying a tray full of food. Bart got up to take the tray for her and set it down on the side table. She'd brought sandwiches and the inevitable pot of coffee. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her father, who shook his head 'no.' The coffee went to Bart instead.

"I think a nap would do me more good than lunch," Arthur announced. "Bart, how soon do you need that item we discussed?"

"As soon as you can get it for me, Arthur."

"How about now? I know just where it is. Come with me."

Bart set his coffee down and got up, following Arthur across the parlor and into a sumptuous bedroom in the back of the house. The home might not be big by some standards but the furnishings were well made and elegant. The room was very masculine and comfortable; Arthur went to the dresser and opened a drawer, withdrawing a small box. He handed it to Bart and let the gambler open it. Inside was a striking ring with gold scrollwork and an emerald set right in the center, surrounded by tiny diamonds on either side. It was tasteful rather than ostentatious, and looked exactly like something Millie would wear.

"Thank you, Arthur. I never expected this. I'm sure that Millie will love it. It looks just like her."

"Millie and her mother had very similar taste," Ridgeway told Bart. "You're getting quite a girl there."

"I know. I just want to make her happy, Arthur."

The railroad man looked the gambler in the eye. "You do, son, you do."


	21. Between Heaven and Hell

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 21 – Between Heaven and Hell

"You're what!?"

"Going to ask Millie to marry me."

Bret walked over to his brother and put a hand on Bart's forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

"I don't, Bret. I'm perfectly fine."

"Alright, where's my brother and what have you done with him?"

Bart looked up, annoyed. He was lying in the bed, hands behind his head, and Bret was leaning over him. "Stop it. I'm serious about this."

"That's what has me worried. I understand Caroline – you gave your word to Samantha. But there's nobody forcing you into this. So - why?"

"Because."

"Seriously, Bart."

"Because I want to, Bret." He was exasperated by his brother's relentless questioning. They'd been at this for almost an hour and they were right back where they started. "I love the girl. Isn't that enough?"

"For any other man, maybe. For Bart Maverick, no."

"It's gonna have to be. I have to go play poker." He swung up off the bed, ignoring the pain in his chest just to make a point, that he was of sound mind and body and knew what he was doing. "Beau got married and you didn't harangue him like this. Why is this different?"

"Because Beau isn't my brother. He's my cousin, and he lived in England for five years. He came back – English. You're a red-blooded Texan. I've known you my whole life. There's something else behind this. And I intend to find out what it is."

"Give it up, Bret. That's all there is. You can disown me. Pappy can disown me. I don't care. I'm gonna ask her to marry me. I've even got a ring for her."

"No way. Where did that come from?" There was nothing but disbelief in Bret's voice.

"It was her mother's ring."

"And you got this from -"

"Her father."

"Aha. So her father's in on this too?"

"Of course he is. I asked his permission."

"You - I don't believe this. Have you asked Millie yet?"

"Not yet. But I'm going to."

"When?"

"Tomorrow, after poker. We're meeting downstairs for breakfast."

Bret mumbled something under his breath that Bart didn't understand. "Repeat that, would ya?"

"I said, I went to all this trouble to keep you alive. Maybe I should have let Seth Johnson shoot you."

"You don't mean that."

"Right now I do."

Bart sat on the edge of the bed and watched his brother pace back and forth. "Bret, sit down."

Reluctantly, Bret complied and sat in a chair next to the bed. "What?"

"You remember what I was like when you found me in that jail cell in Montana?"

Bret shuddered. Bart had been confused, frightened, disoriented, and broken. It took an almost superhuman effort on his part and a great shock to his psyche to fight and claw his way back to the man that sat in front of him. "I do."

"I made up my mind that if I was lucky enough to find somebody to love I wouldn't pass her by just to keep chasin' my life around. Millie's the girl, Bret. She makes me happy. I do the same for her. I keep having this dream, with a wife, and kids, and a family, and I want that. All of it. Not someday, now. Before it's too late and I lose the chance. Understand?"

Bret nodded his head. "Yeah, sort of. It's your life, Brother Bart, and if that's what you want then that's what you should have."

"Good. I'm going to play poker. You comin' with me, Doc?" Bart asked that with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yep, Maverick, I'm comin' with you."

XXXXXXXX

A repeat of the previous night. Bret followed Bart into room 346 and waited while Bart left his guns with Gerald behind the bar. Once more he turned in the second derringer and kept his in the pocket of his vest. Seth Johnson came in at the last minute, weaponless tonight, and his bodyguard remained in the hall outside the room. Deacon entered with the cashbox and handed out the money bags; Seth and Bart took their seats at the table. Bret vacated the room and the game started.

Bart couldn't keep his mind on poker. He kept running things over in his head; how he'd ask her, what she'd say, how surprised everyone he knew would be; but he never questioned his decision to marry her. He struggled with the game; he wanted the night over so he could see her. Around three in the morning, after he'd lost a hand he should have won, he called Gerald over and asked for coffee. He had to do something to refocus his attention on poker; right now the only thing he could think about was Millie. He drank the coffee without tasting it, but it helped him concentrate and he started winning again. By four thirty his headache came back, and the closer it got to five the more his whole body began to hurt.

If he didn't know better he would have sworn he was about to have a seizure. His head was pounding and he began to sweat; his vision started to blur and he couldn't think clearly. And suddenly he remembered something ominous - Seth had been too interested in his comment about the aspirin allergy. He picked up the empty coffee cup and stared at it, then tried to look across the table at Johnson. He couldn't.

Deacon said something about "session over" and slid his money bag across the table. Bart forced himself to pay attention and picked up the bag; he couldn't count his money, so he folded a bill in the middle of the stack and put everything inside. He closed and locked it and slid it back to Deacon, then pushed himself to stand up by grabbing the side of the table and pulling. Deacon asked him a question but he couldn't understand the words; the room was spinning and his heart was racing, and his breath came in shallow gasps. He was upright for just a moment more, then his legs gave out and he crashed to the floor. His head struck the edge of the table on the way down and opened up a bloody gash on his forehead as he lay there unconscious.

Seth Johnson sat still at the poker table and let a smirk make its way across his face. Deacon ran for the door and flung it open; 'Doc Holliday' stood in the hall, leaning up against the opposite wall. Deacon never said a word, just grabbed 'Doc' by the arm and dragged him into the room. As soon as he saw Bart passed out on the floor he yelled something and ran, turning the unconscious gambler over ever so gently. 'Doc' looked up from the prone figure and told Deacon, "Go get the doctor – and hurry. I'll get him to his room."

It might have been the fake 'Doc' that picked Bart up and carried him to his suite, but it was the real Bret that laid his brother down in his bed. Bart was soaked with sweat and pale as could be; Bret could feel his heart racing at an ungodly pace. As soon as he put Bart down he felt for his pulse; it was weak and thready, and his breath was still coming in shallow gasps. As far as Bret knew this attack had come out of nowhere, almost as if his brother had been poisoned. Bret wondered who knew about the aspirin allergy. Where was that doctor?

He loosened Bart's tie and unbuttoned his shirt, then his vest. Bart was still trying to breathe, and the rasping sound in his throat scared his older brother. What had the doctor told him? Another dose of aspirin could prove fatal. A noise at the door made Bret look up – it was Millie Ridgeway, who'd seen Deacon tearing through the hotel lobby and raced upstairs, fearing the worst. The tableau in front of her came close.

"What happened?" she choked out.

"I'm not sure," Bret answered. "The dealer ran out into the hall and got me. Bart was already on the floor, unconscious. Did you know he's allergic to aspirin?'

"Yes," Millie replied. "He told us when Doc Morris wrapped his ribs. He couldn't take aspirin for the pain, and he didn't drink. Who would do such a thing?"

"Seth Johnson, I'd imagine. Good way to get him out of the game. Wouldn't hurt if it killed him in the process. I -"

Doctor Morris appeared at the door and he didn't hesitate to come right in. He stared at Bret with a disturbed look on his face. He wasn't sure who this man dressed all in black was, but he knew Bart and could see that the man lying on the bed needed help desperately. "What happened?"

"Aspirin poisoning I think, doctor. He's allergic to it."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Who gave him aspirin?"

"I'm . . . . not exactly sure. I suspect it was deliberate."

The doctor checked all the things Bret had checked and several that he hadn't. Bart was still struggling to breathe and the doctor finally looked up and shook his head. "There's not one thing I can do. Whether he lives or dies is strictly up to him right now. Him and God."

.


	22. Revenge is a Dish Best Served

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 22 – Revenge is a Dish Best Served

Bart's breathing stayed ragged and uneven through most of the day. Slowly his pulse got stronger, but he hadn't regained consciousness by late morning. Bret explained the prior episodes to Millie, so she would understand the severity of the dosing. She sat at the bedside with Bret and the two of them kept encouraging each other to believe that Bart would come out of this episode. Jasper Finley showed up as the morning started to slip into afternoon and kept vigil for a while. It was during Jasper's stay that the subject of that night's poker game arose.

He explained the 'appear and play or default' position in the agreement to Bret, who sat silent for a few minutes and then offered his thoughts. "So Arthur has the ability to substitute another person as proxy if necessary? Have I got that right?"

"That's it," Finley replied. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Doc Holliday needs to go sit in for his good friend Bart Maverick at tonight's game. I'm hoping that can do the job of driving Mr. Johnson right out of his mind. That is, if Doc doesn't kill him for what he did."

Jasper was all for it. "As long as Arthur doesn't have a problem with it, I don't see what difference it makes. Even if Bart's back with us by five o'clock he can't play; this is just a proxy substitution. I'll ride out to the ranch and check in with Arthur, then come back and give you the 'go-ahead.' Millie, I'll let your father know where you are, although I'm sure he'll be able to figure it out. The substitution should give Seth heart palpitations, which he richly deserves. This whole travesty has been unfair to Bart, from the very beginning." Before Jasper went out the door put his hand on Bret's shoulder. "He'll make it, Bret. He's tough."

"I sure hope so," came the immediate reply.

Millie sat quietly by the bed, watching Bart struggle for breath. "Why didn't he tell me about all this?"

Bret shook his head as he delivered his answer. "I don't know, Millie. There's a lot of things he was going to tell you. That he will tell you. I have to believe that. I've sat at his bedside too many times when he wasn't supposed to live and he did." He reached over and took her hand in his. "Jasper was right. He's tough. And he's good. Don't ever forget that."

Tears formed in her eyes. "I know that. There's so many times he could have quit this fight and didn't. And he had nothing to gain by staying, but he stayed. What kind of a man does that when he doesn't have to?"

"That would be my brother," Bret answered her. "And he had plenty to gain. He had you and your respect."

"And my love," she whispered. "That won't be worth much if we lose him."

"Lose me?" came a familiar voice, weakly, from the bed.

Both of them hurriedly turned around. "Bart!" came from Millie, Bret reached out and grasped his brother's hand.

"Hey, little brother. We're here."

"Uh-huh. Where?" The voice was faint and accompanied by a wheezing sound as Bart tried to breathe and talk at the same time. His eyes remained closed.

"Your room. Couldn't wait to take a nap, huh? Had to lie down as soon as the game was over for the night?"

"Seth." It was a statement, and Bret knew exactly what it meant.

"I know, Bart. I'll take care of it. Or rather Doc will. I'll explain after we get the ok. There's somebody here that wants to see you." Bret let go of his brother's hand and moved out of the way so Millie could sit closer.

"Bart, honey, it's Millie. Can you open your eyes and let me see you?"

His eyelashes fluttered once, twice, and the eyelids opened slowly. Bret could see his eyes and they were clear, unlike the last few times he'd come back from wherever it was his mind slipped off to. Millie bent down and kissed his forehead; the slightest of smiles creased his lips.

There was a knock at the door and Bret got up to answer it. Jasper was back, and he brought good news. "Arthur understands completely and thinks it's a fine idea. He would be forever grateful to you if you would play for Bart. And anything you want to do to Seth Johnson is fine by him."

"That's great. I'll be ready to take over. Jasper, Bart's awake." Bret couldn't hide his smile.

"Great news! Can I say 'hey' to him?"

"Of course. If you can get his attention with Millie there." Bret laughed cautiously, well-aware of the fact that Bart wasn't out of the woods yet.

Jasper moved over to the bed and Bret looked out the window. Down below on the street Seth Johnson stood talking to someone Bret had yet to meet. He clenched and unclenched his fists, thinking of all the times he could have taken revenge on one or another of Bart's adversaries and didn't. Something had always held him back; pity, sorrow, obligations, fear, the desire to be law-abiding, or rather law-avoiding. This time he felt no such compunction. Whatever punishment he inflicted on Seth Johnson was well-deserved.

"Bart! Bart!" It was Millie's voice, and there was panic in it. "Bret! I don't think he's breathing!"

Bret ran over quickly. Millie was right, Bart was no longer breathing. Bret grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him. Nothing. He shook harder and slapped Bart in the face. "Bart! Bart, breathe! Breathe, son!" He turned to Millie. "Pillows, get pillows!"

While Millie pulled extra pillows off the other side of the bed, Jasper helped Bret turn Bart on his side. Bret slapped his brother on the back between the shoulder blades once, twice, three times before he heard a cough and a sputter and saw his chest rise and fall once, then stop again. Bret pounded Bart's back with the heel of his hand, as hard as he could, and Millie rushed over with the pillows. They propped Bart up in the bed, against the headboard, and Bret shook him hard once again. At long last there was a gasp as Bart's lungs began to work and he sucked in much-needed air. Bret let out a shout and grabbed Millie, holding her close and breathing himself, again.

"My God!" he gulped, shaking like a leaf in an August wind. "What happened?" he asked Millie.

"I don't know," she cried, wiping the tears from her eyes. "He was looking at me and all of a sudden his eyes closed and he just quit breathing. Has he done that before?"

"No, never," Bret responded. "I couldn't imagine -"

Jasper interrupted. "I think you better reconsider playing poker tonight, Bret, and stay here instead. Just in case."

"No," Bret shook his head. "Bart wouldn't dare do that again! And now I have a score to settle. I'm goin' to this game, not Doc Holliday." _'And this time there'll be no one to stop me. I will kill that s.o.b. when I've beaten him.'_

 _XXXXXXXX_

No more joking around. Bret shaved the 'Doc Holliday' mustache and changed into his own clothes, with the exception of the low-slung gun. He removed the key and the derringer from Bart's vest pockets; that's when he found the emerald ring. Ah, the one Bart told him about. He admired it for a moment – it really was striking. Then he put it back in its box and returned the box to Bart's pocket.

Bart hadn't woken this time. Whether his body was still fighting the poisonous aspirin or the effects of not breathing was unclear; all Bret knew was that his brother remained unconscious. Millie kept a cool, damp towel on Bart's forehead and Jasper promised to return to the room once he'd introduced Bret to Seth, Deacon and Gerald. As five o'clock approached Bret went downstairs to get the silver flask filled with coffee; he wasn't going to drink anything that was poured in that room.

He picked up Jasper on the way to the third floor; Bart was still not awake. Doc Morris had stopped by to see how everyone was holding up and decided to stay with Millie until Jasper returned. Bret gave the doctor a brief rundown of the day's events and Doc just shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, Bret. It's not a good sign that he stopped breathing, but it is a good sign that you got him started again. All we can do is wait this one out."

Room 346 was unlocked but there was no one there. Bret walked behind the bar to check for any leftover aspirin; there was nothing to be found. He poured Jasper a drink while he was there and came back around the front of the bar just as the rest of the participants arrived.

"Seth Johnson, this is Bret Maverick, Bart's brother. With Arthur Ridgeway's consent he's taken Bart's place as Arthur's designated proxy for the remainder of the game, or whenever Bart is able to return. Bret, Seth Johnson. Deacon Cain, the dealer and banker, and your bartender tonight will be Rosie, once again. It seems Gerald was seen leaving town this morning and isn't expected to return. Courtesy of Mr. Johnson, no doubt. Mr. Johnson, you look confused. Is there a problem?"

Indeed, Seth looked very confused. "But aren't you – I mean, I thought - wasn't that . . . . . . . . brother, eh?"

"That's right," Bret answered. "And you'll find that I'm not so easily poisoned." He leaned over and stuck his face right in front of Seth's. "I know what you did, Mr. Johnson. And one way or another, you will pay for it. And should my brother not recover from the little dose of aspirin you provided, I shall take great pleasure in evening the score. Bodyguard or no bodyguard."


	23. What Dreams May Come

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 23 – What Dreams May Come

Bret played like a man possessed. Every time Seth Johnson made a move or looked like he might have a hand won, Bret beat him. It was truly a lesson in 'never infuriate a Maverick.'

By the time six a.m. rolled around Seth was down to his last twenty-five thousand dollars. Bret was all for continuing the game but Johnson insisted the rules be followed, and Deacon declared the session over. There was now over one hundred thirty-seven thousand dollars in the money bag when Bret locked it up. He pocketed the key and stared at Johnson across the table, then retrieved his guns and hurried out of the room and down the stairs to the second floor. He brushed right past George Henry as he made his exit and went straight to Bart's room. Bret entered quietly, hoping that Bart was awake but was disappointed to find that he had not regained consciousness at all since Bret left the previous night.

Millie was asleep on the settee, a spare blanket from the bed covering her. Jasper Finley was smoking a cigar at the window, the smoke drifting out the open window into the early dawn hours. He turned when Bret entered and raised his hand in a 'good morning' gesture. Bret pointed to the bed with a unspoken question on his face and Jasper shook his head 'no.' Damn. It had been twenty-four hours since Bart lost consciousness and he'd only been awake that one time for just a few minutes. Bret motioned to Jasper and the two men adjourned to the hall to talk.

"Nothing at all, Jasper?" was the first thing that was asked.

"Nope, son, nothing. Nary an eye blink from him. Doc Morris came by again just a little while ago and checked him over – didn't have much to say other than to shake his head and go 'tsk, tsk.' Millie asked me to wake her when you got here – I sent her down to eat last night and she wanted to be up to take care of him so you and I could get breakfast. That alright with you?"

"Nah, Jasper, I want to spend some time with him this morning. Talkin' to him brought him back once before – maybe it'll work again. You go get breakfast and take Millie – the girl needs to go home and get some rest. Maybe you can talk her into it. He could be like this for another day or two, and it won't do her any good to just sit here and wait. How about it?"

"Whatever you say. I could stand to eat, and I'm sure Millie'll be hungry. Want me to bring some coffee back for you?"

"Yeah, would ya? I'd appreciate it. That way I can sit with him."

"Of course. Let's go wake her. Say, how'd the game go? Have you run Seth out yet?"

"Almost. I think he won one hand all night. And I promised him I'd have something to discuss with him when it was all over. He's done enough to terrorize everyone."

Slowly the door opened. It was Millie, still clutching the blanket around her. She looked directly at Bret. "It's morning. You're back. Is he dead yet?"

"Is who dead?"

"Seth Johnson."

"No, I haven't beaten him yet."

"No, I mean is he dead yet?"

"You mean really dead? As in dead dead?"

Millie nodded. "That's what I mean. Aren't you going to kill him?"

"Millie, I don't kill people."

"Even somebody that murdered your brother?'

Bret looked at her in alarm. "Bart's not dead."

"Not yet." She looked at Bret, sleepy, exhausted, scared, depressed. "What if he dies?"

"Millie, honey, you need some sleep. Why don't you let Jasper take you home? I'll be here with Bart. You go home for a while and come back later; you're not making any sense." Bret was concerned; she was almost incoherent. "Jasper, can you take her home?"

"Come here, Millie. Let Uncle Jasper take you out to the ranch." He gathered her and her blanket into his arms. "I'll be back later, Bret." Jasper guided her down the hall, her head leaning on his shoulder, almost asleep. Bret walked back into the room. Bart's eyes were still closed.

"Brother Bart, sleep time's over. Time to wake up now." His brother didn't move. Bret walked across the room and sat on the settee Millie had been sleeping on. He was exhausted after being up for two straight days and soon fell asleep. His sleep was haunted by dreams, the kind you don't want to remember.

 _He was an old man, standing in a graveyard. The marker on the grave said 'Bart Maverick 1841 – 1869'._

 _He stood for a long time and looked at his brother's grave. Finally he turned and climbed into the buggy, and Millie handed him the reins. She was almost as old as he was, gray-haired but still beautiful, and wore a sorrowful expression on her face. They'd had a pleasant life, but there was always something missing from it. His brother, who'd died much too young._

 _Millie was supposed to be Bart's wife, but he was murdered before he ever had a chance to ask her. Slowly, through the years, Bret fell in love with her, almost as a method of keeping his brother close. Millie was drawn to Bret for the same reason. When they finally married and had children Bret wanted them to know their Uncle Bart, but he was long since gone. He blamed himself for Bart's murder – he could have stopped it and didn't. He always thought Millie blamed him, too, and after many years together they began to grow apart._

 _They started coming out to the graveyard every week to visit Bart and the tensions between them began to ease. Bret saw Millie's undying love for his brother; Millie saw the guilt Bret carried for his death. Once again they began to drive away from the graveyard and Bret could hear his name being called by the ghosts of the past: " . . . .Bret . . . . Bret . . . . Bret . . . ."_

He woke abruptly. It wasn't the wind calling his name; he'd left the door unlocked and it was Millie, shaking his shoulder and trying to wake him up. "Huh? What? I'm here. What?"

"Bret, Bart's awake."

He got to his feet, groggy and dazed, and stumbled over to the bed. Bart was lying on his back with his eyes open, watching his brother closely. Just as Bret got to the bedside Bart spoke. "Bret?"

"Right here, Bart. You've been out for a while. How about some water?"

Bart nodded, almost imperceptibly. Millie went to the dresser, poured some into a glass and brought it over. Bret slipped his arm behind Bart's shoulders and started to lift him to drink. Bart let out a moan as Bret contacted the area of his back where he'd been hit to try and force him to breathe. Bart regarded his brother in confusion; he didn't understand why his shoulders and back were so painful; Bret finished lifting him and brought the glass to his lips as he explained the soreness.

"Sorry everything's so tender, but you quit breathing and I couldn't think of any other way to get you started. You scared the livin' daylights outta both of us. I shook you, too. Nothing else worked, so Jasper and I rolled you over and I pounded on you. At least it worked." Bret grimaced at Bart as he handed Millie the empty glass.

"Stopped breathing?"

"Yeah, you did. Just stopped. I thought sore shoulders were preferable to dying."

"Yeah."

Millie came back to Bart's side. "I thought I lost you."

"No. Not goin' anywhere." He shifted his gaze back to his brother. "How long this time?"

"Over twenty-four hours," Bret told him.

"Mustache gone."

Bret nodded. "I shaved it off. Bret Maverick played poker last night."

"The game?"

"Yep. Beat that good-for-nothing Johnson all night."

"Done?"

"Might finish him tonight."

"Then what?"

Bret knew his brother would assume the worst, but he wasn't going to verbalize his plans for the troublemaker. "Then we make sure he abides by the agreement and leaves town."

"That all?"

"That's all. That's enough."

Bart was relieved. He knew how close Bret had come to exacting revenge on the marshal in Silver Creek; he didn't want to think about what could happen to Seth Johnson.

"You gonna stay with us this time?" Bret asked his brother. "Getting' tired of you tryin' to die on me."

"Sure," answered the man in the bed, and he chuckled. That answer from the younger Maverick would always bring a laugh from the two brothers.

"Millie, you can have him all to yourself for a while. I need some food. You behave yourself." The parting remark was aimed squarely at Bart. Bret grabbed his coat and left the room, closing the door behind him and leaning momentarily against the wall in the hallway. He let out a long sigh, followed by a quietly spoken "Thanks." Then resolved that the man who'd attempted more than once to kill his brother would pay – with his life.


	24. Raymond Redux

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 24 – Raymond Redux

When food finally came, Bret realized it had been almost twenty-four hours since he ate anything. That's why he didn't put down his coffee when Arthur Ridgeway walked into the dining room. Instead, he waved Arthur over and stood when the older man got to the table. "Arthur, how's everything today?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question. I take it Bart's awake?"

Bret nodded and waved the waitress over. "Mr. Ridgeway will have – "

"Just coffee, Mary Sue."

"What brings you to town today?"

Arthur laughed. "That's the only way I get to see my daughter. No, I wanted to check on Bart. And see Doctor Morris."

Bret's eyebrows shot up. "Doc Morris? Something bothering you?"

Ridgeway laughed again. "Well, Doc seems to think I'm going to die on him."

Bret stopped eating and looked at the tycoon. "You're serious?"

A nod. "Aren't we all? Well, not you and Bart. Not anytime soon, I hope."

"No, Arthur. I'm not planning on it. Bart keeps tempting fate, but I hope he'll stop that now."

"Now?"

"He told me about Millie."

"Oh." A pause, then "I was wondering if he would."

"I found the ring."

Another nod. "Then he hasn't asked her yet?"

"That's another reason I came downstairs. To give them some time together. And food." Bret's turn to laugh; if Arthur had seen Bart eat he was in for a shock being around Bret. Their appetites were as different as night and day.

"You have an opinion about that? The proposal, I mean?"

"It's not my life," Bret responded.

Arthur hesitated, as if considering that fact. "Still, you're his brother."

Bret wondered just how much Bart had shared with the Ridgeways. "He was married before, you know."

"Millie told me. What happened?"

"His wife was shot and killed."

Arthur was startled by that revelation. Bret decided he better set the record straight. "It didn't have anything to do with Bart. It was somebody out to steal his wife's ranch."

Ridgeway looked relieved. "How long ago was that?"

Bret thought back for a minute. "Three, four years ago."

"One more question – what happened to the ranch?"

"Bart gave it to his wife's cousin." Samantha Crawford, of course.

"Aha. Awfully generous, wasn't it?"

"That's Bart. He thought that Caroline would want the property to stay in the family. So it did."

"Did they catch the killer?"

"Bart shot him. It was self-defense."

Arthur sat sipping his coffee and Bret finished his meal. He wondered if Arthur Ridgeway was regretting his decision to help Maverick marry his daughter. "Awfully quiet, Arthur."

"Just thinking."

"Something else you want to know?"

"Can he stay in one place and not . . . . . . regret it?"

"You'd have to ask him that." Bret set his napkin down and drank the last of his coffee. "Something bothering you?"

"No." He didn't sound certain. "No."

"If you have reservations, Arthur, you better talk to them about it. Course you may already be too late."

XXXXXXXX

"Do you make a habit of this?" That was the only thing Millie wanted to ask Bart, as soon as Bret left.

"What?"

"Attempting to die."

"Yes."

She was horrified to think that he might be serious. "Well, stop it."

"Plan to."

"Thank goodness." She sat back down by the bedside, now that Bret was gone. "How do you feel? Can you breathe alright? You quit before, you know."

"Bret told me."

"You didn't answer me about breathing. How do your ribs feel?

"Better. Don't notice 'em as much, since Bret tried to kill me."

Millie almost spit out a laugh. "You Mavericks! Is the whole family like this?"

"Like what?"

"Always joking! Do you take anything seriously?"

"Not much. Do you?"

"Yes, I take a lot seriously. This fight for statehood. Women's rights. My father's health. Love."

"Poker."

"What?"

"Poker. I take poker seriously."

"I know that," she pointed out. "Just from the way you've played this game."

"I want to play tonight."

"You can't, Bart," she protested. "You almost died. You stopped breathing. You have to let Bret play."

He sighed. He'd lied to her about his ribs; they still hurt. Along with his back, and shoulders, and head. He knew she was right, Bret had to play – he simply couldn't.

"Alright. Not gonna fight it. But he better not finish Johnson off. That one belongs to me."

"I'm sure he's thought of that."

"You don't know my brother like I do. If he's got a chance to win it all, he will."

"You underestimate him. There's one thing he loves more than poker."

"What's that?"

"You."

XXXXXXXX

"What are you going to do, Seth?" The question was posed by Andrew Watson, relaxing in Seth Johnson's office and smoking one of his fancy cigars.

Seth was sitting behind his desk, trying to come up with an answer to that very question. "Don't know, Andrew. I could have them both killed; maybe I'd fare better against another poker player."

"And what are you going to do about Buckley?"

"That lousy con-man? You mean because he double-crossed me?"

"That's exactly what I mean. If Buckley had shown up and played this game the way he was supposed to, you wouldn't be in this mess. He got away with five thousand dollars of your money! You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"It's not the money so much as it is him sending me a gambler I can't beat. That's the part I'm angry about. Maybe I ought to send Raymond after Buckley."

Watson was nonplussed at the mention of Raymond. "Where did you send Raymond, anyway?"

"Out to San Francisco," Seth answered. "He'll be useful out there. Everybody here thinks he's dead, I'm sure."

"Back to the problem, Seth. What are you going to do about the Mavericks?"

"I'll let you know when I decide. It all depends on what happens tonight. If I can win, I might be a little more forgiving. If it's all over - I'll decide that later." Seth pulled out his watch and checked the time. Almost four-thirty. "I guess we'll know soon enough. Walk me over to the hotel?"


	25. Plans Best Forgotten

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 25 – Plans Best Forgotten

Bret was in a better frame of mind than the previous night. His brother had regained consciousness, although something seemed strangely off about Bart. He'd stopped in the hotel room only briefly, but there'd been no ring on Millie's finger and no talk of marriage. That was odd in light of Bart's earlier declaration of commitment.

And with any luck at all, Bret could finish Seth Johnson off tonight. And then kill him. Because that was truly his intent. He'd had enough of people trying to destroy his brother, whether mentally or physically, and this time he wanted to put an end to it.

He was still carrying the spare derringer – he'd have to remember to return that to Bart. After playing poker the previous night against Seth he was glad to have the weapon. Tonight's game started off much as last night had – Bret won everything that came at him. Then very slowly something began happening, and Johnson started winning a hand here, a hand there. They fought back and forth all night, and when morning came Maverick had only cut Johnson down by about six or seven thousand dollars. Bret wasn't happy with himself; he'd played the cards all right, but not with the edge he had yesterday.

Once again he collected his guns and left without talking to anyone; he couldn't stand the self-satisfied look on Johnson's face. He'd managed to put off the inevitable for one more night, and Bret had no intention of allowing him to gloat over the 'victory.'

Bart's room was quiet; he was alone and asleep. Bret didn't wake him, just slipped in and back out and went to breakfast. Before going into the dining room he stepped outside, lit a cigar and watched the sun come up over the mountains. It was a beautiful morning but something was still bothering him. He didn't know exactly what it was; maybe he'd finally developed Bart's nose for trouble. He stood there for a few minutes, blowing out cigar smoke and watching it drift away down the street. He wondered if he and Bart would ever ride into another town together, or ride out in opposite directions, or accidentally turn up in the same place at the same time. First he'd lost his cousin, and now he was going to lose his brother. How much could a man take before it all became too much?

He finished the cigar at the same time he finished the peek into the future – his future, alone. He wasn't sure he liked what he saw. He remembered when he and Bart were children, and could think of nothing but riding off into the world together. Less than forty-eight hours ago his brother had told him that he would have to ride out of this town by himself. How long would it be before that came to pass? And would he do it at all? Or had he ridden out of the last town he'd ever leave?

That was a possibility he hadn't considered until now. What if he killed Seth Johnson and got hung for it? What good would that do? Then he wouldn't be around if his brother needed him. And if Bart and Millie really got married and started a family? No Uncle Bret to spoil nieces and nephews and teach them poker; or repeat Pappy's quotes to as they grew older. No Uncle Bret to grow old and gray with; the opposite of his dream. Maybe he should rethink the whole murder thing.

No, somebody needed to stop the ruthless man. Before he succeeded in snuffing out a Maverick life.

The cigar was done and so was his ruminating. Coffee sounded good. So did bacon and eggs, and then a thought crossed his mind – what if Bart hadn't eaten since he finally came back from the dead? Should he go upstairs and see if his brother was able to make it down for breakfast? Or even wanted to? He decided quickly, and turned back into the hotel just as Seth Johnson and his bodyguard were leaving.

"Mr. Johnson."

"Mr. Maverick."

He bounded back up the stairs two at a time and returned quickly to room 219. The room was beginning to lighten but his brother was still asleep. Once again he slipped quietly out and went back to his original plan – the one calling for breakfast.

One hour, two pieces of toast, three cups of coffee, four eggs and five pieces of bacon later he no longer felt hungry, but he was in desperate need of rest. Back up to room 219 and sleep on the settee. Maybe Bart would stay comatose long enough for Bret to get a couple of hours in before it was time to go back and play poker again. That was his hope as he drifted off - that and no more dreams.

XXXXXXXX

Bart woke slowly; it took him a minute to remember where he was and why he was there. From the brightness of the room he assumed it was mid-morning; and the snoring from the settee reassured him that he wasn't alone. It had to be his brother; he'd heard that exact sound for most of his life. Could he actually sit up by himself? Only one way to find out, and he was determined to give it a try. His ribcage hurt, especially on his right side, and he couldn't remember what he'd done to cause the pain. His entire back was sore, too, almost like someone had beaten him, but there was some vague memory of Bret explaining that soreness.

It wasn't easy to sit up in the bed, but it was done without too much moaning and groaning. Bret must really be out; there wasn't even a waiver in the noise from that side of the room. Enough of the sounds; he was starving and needed food. "Bret." No answer. "BRET." Still no answer. "BRETON JOSEPH!"

"Mmmmmm? Bart? Is that you? What time is it?"

"I don't know – you tell me."

"Give me a minute – here it is. Half past eleven. You hungry?"

A laugh emanated from the Maverick in the bed. "Starved."

Several groans from the settee followed. "Up. I'm up. Hey, so are you!" This last comment came after Bret looked over at the bed and saw Bart sitting up. "Okay – let's get you dressed."

"Hey – why does everything hurt so much? My ribs, my back – what the hell happened?"

Bret was surprised when he realized Bart didn't remember the beating from Raymond or the pounding he'd taken from his brother to restart his breathing. What else didn't he remember? "Uh, there's been a couple 'accidents.' I'll refresh your memory once we get downstairs. Meantime, let's get you dressed."

Bret managed to get himself up and over to the closet for clean clothes – thank goodness Bart took better care of his things these days, unlike when they were children and garments tended to pile up in the corner. Pants, vest, coat all came back to the bed with Bret. Clean shirt came out of the dresser. The pants went on without much problem; the shirt was still a struggle. When Bret got to the vest he was surprised to see the small box still in Bart's pocket. He pulled it out and held it up. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"What is it?" Bart asked, confused.

"Whadda ya mean, what is it? It's a ring."

"How do you know that? You haven't even opened it."

Bret set the vest down and opened the box. Sure enough, inside was the emerald and diamond ring that Arthur Ridgeway had given to Bart several days ago to use as an engagement ring for Millie. He picked up the ring and held it out for Bart to look at.

"Huh. Must belong to Millie. I've never seen it before."

Bret put the ring back in the box and set it down on the dresser. How could Bart not remember the ring? He was the one determined to ask Millie Ridgeway to marry him. Maybe he'd just forgotten and would recognize it once he'd eaten. He'd worry about that later. Right now food was the only thing on Bart's mind, and Bret was determined to feed his brother.

XXXXXXXX

Bart set his coffee cup down and looked at the older Maverick across the table. "No wonder my back and shoulders are sore. I'm surprised you didn't break something. What else have I forgotten in this fog that seems to have occupied my brain?"

His older brother was torn. Should he tell Bart about the ring and the intended proposal? And remind him of something he'd obviously forgotten? Had he forgotten his love for the girl, too? And what further trouble could the reminder bring? What if Bart was distressed by his loss of memory? Could that hinder his physical recovery? And then there was one more factor in the puzzle – Bret's belief that Bart couldn't be truly happy settling down and staying in one place, with one woman, for the rest of his life. What if he was right, and the marriage turned into a disaster? No, he thought, the best thing to do was wait – and see if Bart remembered on his own. If he didn't, well then, maybe it wasn't worth remembering.

"How far down did you run Seth's funds last night?"

"Huh? Oh, he's under twenty thousand. Makes me mad I couldn't finish him off. Then this would all be done."

"Where you headed next?"

Bret watched his brother carefully as he answered. "Not sure yet. South, maybe Mexico. I heard about something in Nuevo Laredo that might prove lucrative. You up for it?" It was a loaded question and Bret knew it. Bart's answer would depend on what he remembered.

"Sure, I don't see why not. Might be good to go south for a while. Sure haven't had much luck up here in the north. Maybe we can get Beau to go with us. Georgia ought to be about ready to pack him off for a while, don't you think?"

So there it was. Bart remembered Beau and Georgia, and probably Montana, but not his own marital intentions. Then and there Bret made the decision that would determine the direction the rest of Bart Maverick's life would take – and it didn't include Millie Ridgeway.


	26. Emeralds and Copper

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 26 – Emeralds and Copper

This was far more important than sleep. He rode out to the Ridgeway house with the express intent of having a long talk with Arthur Ridgeway. The subject – the non-marriage of Bart Maverick and Millie Ridgeway.

Arthur was there and ushered Bret into the parlor. Millie was visiting a friend; Bret was glad that the two men would have an opportunity to speak privately. "Coffee, Bret? Cook just brewed a fresh pot," Ridgeway offered.

"I could stand some, thanks, Arthur." Bret was too concerned to sit, and he began pacing until the coffee was served. Finally, with cup in hand, he sat down. He fidgeted for a minute or two until his host finally spoke.

"Something you wanted to talk about?" Arthur asked the nervous gambler.

Bret took a swallow of coffee and set it down. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the box that contained the ring. "I brought this back to you."

Arthur took the box and looked at Bret quizzically. "Why? What happened? I thought Bart was sure about this?"

"He was, Arthur. Before Johnson tried to poison him. That's the problem – he doesn't remember a lot of what happened the last few days. Evidently the intention to marry your daughter is one of the things that no longer exists in his head. I asked him about the ring and he claimed never to have seen it before. He has no idea that he came out here and asked for your blessing. He thinks the ring belongs to Millie."

"He doesn't remember at all?"

"None of it. He didn't know what happened to cause the rib cage pain – or my pounding his back to get him breathing again. He's not lying, Arthur. He told me about everything before Seth slipped him the aspirin – and he doesn't remember any of that. I don't know if he ever will. I didn't know what to do, other than bring the ring back to you. Maybe it'll all come back to him – but for right now, it's not there."

Arthur turned the small box over in his hands. They sat there for a long time, Bret with his hands folded in front of him, Arthur holding the package that contained his daughter's future. Finally Millie's father put the box in his coat pocket, then cleared his throat. "Maybe it's all for the best – he's not well right now, and who knows how long it will be before he is. I'd hate to see him rush into something this important and regret it later. Especially with Millie. She's already had enough disappointments in her life."

"I was hoping you'd see it that way," Bret submitted. "Neither one of them needs to be hurt by all this." Bret stood and offered Arthur his hand, which the railroad man shook gratefully. "Who knows what the future has in store for any of us. Maybe someday - "

"Maybe," Arthur responded. "I appreciate your honesty, Bret, and your candor. I'll keep this between us. I'm sorry it didn't work out, for any of us."

"Well, at least the poker game should. I don't know what Bart's intent is; I think he oughta sit out at least another day. Brother Bart, however, very often has his own idea of the way things should proceed. He's done the yeoman's work on this one; whatever he decides is fine with me. You'll know when it's resolved and we can all celebrate. And Arthur," Bret lowered his voice, "thanks for being so understanding. I'm concerned about Bart's health; I don't think he needs to get involved with anything that might hamper his recovery."

"Thanks for everything, Bret. The soon-to-be state of Wyoming owes you and your brother a debt that can never be repaid. Take care of him; he's a good man."

Bret mounted his horse and rode back to Cheyenne. He'd done what he thought was in his brother's best interest; and Millie Ridgeway's too, when he thought about it.

XXXXXXXX

By the time Bret got back to the hotel it was almost time to go upstairs. He went straight to Bart's room and found his brother sitting on the settee reading. He was dressed to go play poker, and Bret knew exactly what Bart was thinking. "Watcha reading?"

"'David Copperfield'. It's another Dickens novel. You know me and Dickens." Bart had an affinity for Charles Dickens books; Bret didn't see the point in them. If it wasn't about poker he didn't read it.

"Looks like you're goin' somewhere." There was an edge to Bret's voice. He was sure that Bart should wait at least one more day to resume playing; but trying to talk his brother out of something was nigh unto impossible.

"I am."

"That's all I get?"

"You know the answer to that. I'm playin' poker tonight."

"You need to rest at least one more day. Let me go."

Bart looked at his older brother with amusement. "And let you be the one to beat Seth Johnson down to nothing? Oh no sir, that pleasure is gonna be all mine. It's the least I can do for him. And me. And Arthur and Millie. I want to see the look on his face when it's over."

"Can't talk you out of it?"

"You know what Raymond called me the first time I met him? 'Funny boy.' Raymond may not still be around, but Johnson is. This is one last game I'm gonna enjoy immensely. I wouldn't give it up for anything."

Bret sat down on the settee next to Bart. "Alright, I'm going with you."

That statement was met with an outright laugh. "As what, my bodyguard?"

"If I have to, yes. You're not goin' alone."

"And Pappy thought I was the stubborn one." Bart chuckled as he said it.

"No, Pappy knows you're the stubborn one. I'm just being practical."

"Practically what?"

"Prac-tic-cal, little brother. Just in case Seth decides to shoot you himself after you beat him. At least I can kill him afterward."

"Isn't that a comforting thought? He's not the type to just come out and shoot someone. You'd have to crawl down in his hole and find him."

"I have vast experience with snakes. Case in point – our friend Buckley."

Bart put down the book and turned to his brother. "Do you think he knew something we don't?"

"When did you ever know Buckley to tell you the whole truth about anything if he could benefit in some way?"

"You have a point. Well, brother dear, shall we go? It's just about that time."

"I'm ready for an end to the war, Mr. Maverick. How about you?"

"I look forward to the enemy's unequivocal surrender, Mr. Maverick."

Bret stood up; Bart followed slowly. He was still sore almost everywhere above the waist. He put out his hand. "My derringer, please."

Bret pulled it out of his vest pocket and handed it over. "You wearin' a Colt?"

"Yes sir. Just in case I need to shoot a whiskey bottle."

"You shoot those right well."

"My aim is better than yours."

"Pappy's aim is better than mine." Bret laughed as a comical thought occurred to him. "Good thing we didn't want to be gunslingers."

"Yeah, I think we'd be in serious trouble."

There was a knock at the door. Bret opened it to find Jasper and Rosie. "We just stopped to wish you luck."

Bret indicated Bart with a sweep of his arm. "Mr. Maverick the younger is playing tonight. And he'll tell you it's a noble sentiment but he doesn't need luck. He has skill on his side. Are you escorting the lady to bartend?"

Rosie giggled and nodded. "Yes he is. Probably my last night. Mr. Maverick, you don't have to worry about me. I wouldn't let nobody give you somethin' they wasn't supposed to."

"Thanks, Rosie," Bart offered. "I'll see you up there. Keep the coffee hot and strong tonight."

"Aye, aye Cap'n!" Jasper tipped his hat and swung Rosie around in the hall, then the two of them proceeded up the stairs and the next floor.

Bart tried to contain his laughter but he couldn't help himself and had to grab his ribs. "Somehow they make the perfect pair."

"Yep, they do. Ok, let's go, gamblin' man."

Bart picked his hat up from the dresser. "I'm ready; lead the way. Time to tame the beast."


	27. TKO

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 27 – TKO

"Well, Mr. Maverick, I'm surprised to see you back so soon. Sure you're feeling well enough to play?"

Bart stood face to face with Seth Johnson and never spoke. Bret backed him up, hand on his gun the whole time. George Henry was already stationed out in the hall; Seth wasn't inclined to make a move with his hired gun out of play. "I said – "

"I heard you."

"Mr. Maverick, I have your coffee ready." Rosie did her best to break the tension in the room. Bart turned away from Johnson and smiled at the pretty 'bartender.'

"Thank you, Rosie. You're quite efficient, and much prettier than Gerald. Thanks for taking over."

"It's Jasper's fault," she giggled. "I mean Mr. Finley." She leaned close to Bart and whispered "Can you please beat him and finish this off? I don't get to spend enough time with Jasper these days."

"Be glad to," came the answer. Bart turned to his brother. "Time for you to go, gunslinger."

"I'm right outside," Bret reminded him. "Don't wait until you're dead to call me."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. No killing in the halls, just remember."

Deacon finally came in a few minutes late with the cash box, and was surprised to see Bart. "Thought you were down for the count, my friend. How do you feel?"

"Been better, been worse, Deacon. Bret outside when you came in?"

"Yep, he's there. Having a staring contest with Johnson's bodyguard."

Laughter, followed by "Who's winning?" Then the inevitable grab for the still painful ribs.

The two participants locked in this battle and the dealer took their seats. Bart drank coffee, Seth drank whiskey. The first and second hands were won by the professional gambler; Johnson managed to eke out the third hand by beating Bart's aces with three sevens. From there on it was a fairly even match well into the night. The only thing Bart wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep; the one thing he couldn't do.

Around one o'clock in the morning Seth won three hands in a row; Bart could barely keep his eyes open. His ribs were killing him and his breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps again. Deacon called a break in the game, with Seth protesting loudly. Finally the mild-mannered dealer had enough.

"Mr. Johnson, please sit down. According to the agreement regarding this game, the dealer has the right to call a break when he sees fit. I am the dealer, and I see fit. Since your machinations are the reason this break is needed, sit down and shut up." It was probably the most sternly worded statement the church deacon ever made in his life, and after watching Seth Johnson and his reprehensible maneuvers on more than one occasion, Cain was more than happy to deliver it.

Rosie ran for the door and called Bret into the room. Bart was sitting in his chair at the poker table wheezing; he was pale and dizzy, and he'd broken out in a cold sweat. Bret was at his side in just a minute, kneeling next to Bart's chair and attempting to convince him to once again let Bret take over as Arthur Ridgeway's proxy.

"You're exhausted and you can't breathe – are you gonna sit here until you drop dead?" Bret was pressing hard to convince Bart it was time to return to room 219 and let him play instead.

"Not . . . . dying."

"No, but you will be if you don't get some rest. Let me finish this out. He'll be done in just a few hours and you'll feel a lot better with some sleep. Listen to me, Bart. I know you want to beat him but it won't make any difference if it kills you to do it. For me?"

Bart was just about to give in and let Bret finish the game when he looked over at the man who'd caused him so much misery. Johnson wore an expression that could only be described as 'self-satisfied'; he wasn't going to win this match, or even the next hand, but he'd inflicted more than enough pain and suffering on the other side, specifically the man in front of him. And with that one expression he sealed his fate – Bart sat up straight and fought down the impulse to drift off to sleep.

"No, Bret. I . . . . . need to beat him. To show him . . . . he doesn't win."

Bret shook his head. "I wish you weren't so damn stubborn. Just because I beat him instead of you doesn't mean he wins."

Bart's turn to shake his head. "No. Go . . . . back outside. I'm not done."

"Alright, mule, I'm just outside." Bret stood to return to the hall, but leaned over first and whispered something in Bart's ear. It caused the younger gambler to laugh and nod. Bret looked at Deacon and shrugged his shoulders; Bart had made it clear that he wasn't going to let anyone take his place as the victor.

In that moment of Maverick defiance, Seth Johnson gave up; mentally and emotionally. He was beaten, and he knew it. The game continued but now it was only a matter of time. Around three-thirty Bart finally looked across the expanse that separated them when it was his bet and pushed his whole poke into the center of the table. "All in," he announced, and challenged Johnson to do the same. Rosie, who had been half asleep, gasped and was suddenly awake.

"Bart, are you sure?" Deacon questioned.

"Yep," came the answer. Maverick looked down at the four little ladies he held and waited for a reaction from his opponent. Finally it came.

"Alright. Call." The last of Johnson's bankroll made its way to join the funds on the table. "Let's see 'em, cardsharp."

Bart just smiled and laid down the Queens. Seth's hand was thrown on the table, face down, in disgust. "I'm done."

"Yes, Mr. Johnson, you are." Bart simply sat back and smiled.

Deacon set down the deck and stood up. "Seth Johnson, under the agreement made by the consortium involved in this poker game, do you concede defeat and acknowledge that Bart Maverick, Arthur Ridgeway's appointed proxy, has won?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Johnson said disgustedly. Then he swiped his finger across his neck in a 'throat-slitting' gesture. Bart didn't have to ask what he meant.

XXXXXXXX

Deacon collected the keys to the money bags and locked them, along with the funds from the game, in the cashbox. Rosie poured herself a shot and then put the whiskey bottle back on the shelf. The door opened and Bret strode in, followed by Jasper Finley. Rosie immediately ran over and threw her arms around Jasper's neck and squealed with delight. Bret went straight to Bart and grabbed his hand. "Well played, Brother Bart."

Bart looked at his brother with a wan smile on his face. "Thanks. Get me outta here, would ya?" Bret grabbed his elbow and helped him to his feet, then steered him towards the door. As they got to the doorway Bart sagged a little and Bret put his arm around his brother's shoulders and helped hold him up.

"Come on champ, let's get you back downstairs." They walked right past George Henry, left standing in the hallway by his employer, and Bret almost had to catch Bart as he stumbled on the staircase. "Food or bed?"

"There's no choice." Bart was still pale and sweating, although he seemed to be breathing a little easier. "I gotta lie down." It was still dark outside, and Bret guided his brother carefully down the hall and into room 219. Once they entered off came the hat, then the jacket, vest and tie. The rest was just too much effort to get rid of; Bart laid down half-dressed and was asleep before Bret could even get out of his coat. There was a knock at the door and Bret palmed the derringer and held the small weapon behind his back before he answered it. Deacon Cain stood there, troubled and concerned. Bret went into the hall to talk, not wanting to wake his brother.

"I thought you'd want to know," Deacon started, "that Seth threatened Bart again before he left this morning."

"Doesn't surprise me," Bret replied, "although what he'd gain by killing Bart is beyond me at this point."

"Me either, but he did."

"Anything specific?"

"Slitting his throat. Specific enough?"

Bret sighed. "I just don't see any way around this. The man needs to be gone."

"The agreement was that the loser has to leave town."

"I don't see that happening. And when I say 'gone' I mean 'gone.'

Deacon cast his eyes downward and remained very still and quiet. "I know what you mean."

Bret felt badly that he'd made the deacon uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Deacon, but I don't see this ending before somebody's dead. And I don't intend it to be Bart."

"I understand, Bret. I may not like it, but I understand. That's why I wanted to warn you."

"Thanks for the heads up. I won't leave Bart alone as long as Seth Johnson or George Henry is loose." Bret shook hands with Deacon and turned back into the room. If Bart were well they'd leave town now, tonight, before things got any further out of hand. With the state of his brothers health there was no way they'd be traveling for at least a few days.

He made sure the door was locked and checked both of his guns. Yep, loaded and ready to go if needed. Then he checked Bart's, including the derringer. They were loaded, as well. Nothing more to do for now, so he wedged a chair against the door, draped his gun belt over the arm of the settee with the gun closest to him, curled up on the cushions and went to sleep. As long as Bart couldn't go anywhere, he wasn't either.


	28. A Night at Muldoon's

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 28 – A Night at Muldoon's

It didn't matter how long they slept; there was no more poker game – at least not the game they'd both been battling to win. They were exhausted. Bart should never have played so soon after being poisoned with the life-saving aspirin he was allergic to; after two nights of not sleeping in order to play poker, Bret stood outside the suite where the game was played all night to protect Bart. When four o'clock in the afternoon came and went they were just beginning to stir.

Bret was the first to wake. He was stiff and sore from sleeping on the settee, but it was better than the floor, where he'd spent many a night. At least this way he was close to his brother, who'd once again pushed himself to sit up all night and play poker when his body wasn't recovered from the latest abuse it had suffered. Now it was up to Bret to make sure Bart got the money he'd earned and they got out of town in one piece. And that might take some doing, since Bart needed more time to recover and his life had already been threatened more than once.

He heard a noise out in the hall and instinctively reached for his gun, still in its holster, on the arm of his temporary bed. The noise wasn't repeated; he was jumpy from the latest threat made by Seth Johnson. He laid there for a few minutes and listened for sounds; the only thing he heard was the soft breathing coming from the bed. Bart was right; he didn't snore.

There – there was the noise again, right outside their door. He held the gun steady, aimed at the door to the room, and pulled the hammer back. Instead of a door being forcibly opened, there was only the faint rattling of a piece of paper as it was slipped under the door sill. He got up as quietly as possible and went to retrieve the note, waiting until he was back at the sofa before opening it up. It was an invitation, written in a feminine script: _'Bart and Bret – Congratulations on the win! Please join us for supper at seven o'clock at Muldoon's Dining Hall on Fourth Street for a celebratory meal. Everyone will be there, we need the guests of honor for it to be complete. Most sincerely, Arthur and Millie Ridgeway.'_

He chuckled softly. Of course they would be there. Bart especially was the one most entitled to celebrate; he'd almost given his life to win this game for Arthur and the territory. And the girl he'd forgotten about. He glanced in the direction of the bed and noticed movement. Bart was awake. "Hey – feeling better?"

The response was slow but honest. "Not much, but some."

"Feel up to a dinner with everybody? Arthur and Millie want us at Muldoon's at seven for dinner."

"Who's everybody?"

"Don't know. That's all the invitation says."

"Invitation?"

Bret walked over and handed the note to Bart. He read it and gave it back as he sat up. "Sure. Let's go. But I need a bath first – and a shave," he finished as he rubbed his chin.

"I bet we can arrange both," Bret stated. "I'll see what I can do about bath water. Don't answer the door for anyone."

"Yes, Pappy," Bart's standard reply to Bret's 'suggestions.'

"I'm serious, Bart. I know about Johnson's latest threat."

"What, that little gesture? That was an idle threat."

"He doesn't make idle threats. He's got nothin' left to lose. But I do. And I don't wanna lose you."

Bart gave a little chuckle. "You worry too much, Brother Bret. He's gonna leave town."

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it. I'll get the baths set up. Just keep the door locked, please?"

"Yes sir."

XXXXXXXX

Promptly at seven o'clock the Maverick brothers arrived at Muldoon's. Millie and Arthur Ridgeway were already there; Jasper Finley, escorting Rosie, and Doc Morris walked in right behind them. Next thru the door was Deacon Cain, and he had news for them. "Our errant bartender, Gerald? They found him in Laramie trying to catch a stage. Sheriff's going to pick him up tomorrow. He's being charged with murder for hire. We'll see how fast he turns on Johnson once the sheriff gets there."

Arthur had ordered champagne and proposed a toast. "First toast of the night – to catching one scoundrel and looking forward to him turning on the next one."

Everyone raised their glass and drank to that, even the gamblers. This was a special occasion. There was much talk of just what the future would be like in Wyoming, with the opposition to statehood all but vanished with the defeat of Johnson and his cronies. Millie insisted that women should have the right to vote, and no one at the table disagreed with her.

There was another toast, this time proposed by Jasper. 'To the two men that made this all possible – Bart Maverick and his brother Bret. Without them there would be no Arthur Ridgeway guiding the city of Cheyenne and this territory forward, no statehood for Wyoming, and no cause for celebration. Thank God you ended up here with our side, and thank you for being men of principle and integrity. To the Mavericks!"

"Hear, hear," added Arthur, and Millie led the applause that followed. Bart turned six shades of red and Bret was seriously looking for a back-door exit. Having been run out of too many towns to name, this reaction was unaccustomed. When everything settled back down supper was served, none too soon, and Bart was thanking almighty God that no one asked for a remark.

Everyone was just finishing when Bret jumped up and told his brother, "Going for a smoke. Gotta get out of here for a minute."

Bart nodded and started to go with him, but Jasper asked him how old the two of them were when their father taught them poker and he sat back down to explain that as soon as they could hold the cards their education had begun. One question led to another and it was almost fifteen minutes later that Bart realized Bret hadn't returned. "Excuse me," he said, then walked stiffly outside, expecting to find his brother leaning against the rail, smoking. No Bret.

He looked up and down the street as far as he could see. No Bret anywhere. It was getting late and already dark and most everything was quiet and peaceful. Where was his brother? He was just about to go back inside to get the men when he saw something lying in the alley two doors up. He thought he saw movement and drew his gun as he tried to run across the street. By the time he got there the 'something' had turned into a prone form that he recognized. "Bret?"

He knelt down next to his brother, who was now moaning. Even in the darkness Bart could see the thin line of blood that trickled down his brother's hairline and neck. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the blood away just as Bret reached up towards the spot where he'd been hit. "Ow," he remarked as he grabbed the back of his neck. "What was that for?"

"Who was it?" Bart asked as he helped his brother sit up, with considerable effort.

"Didn't see 'em. I was standing across the street smoking when there was a gun in my back and somebody said 'Walk.' So I did. This is what happened when I got into the alley. Anybody after you besides Johnson?"

"Gimme your hand," Bart instructed; Bret did, and Bart pulled him to his feet. It wasn't an easy task and again, his ribs responded with pain at the endeavor. "To answer your question, everybody I know is in that room across the street. All he said was 'walk'?"

"Yep," Bret held Bart's handkerchief to the back of his neck to stop the blood.

"Sound familiar?"

"No, but I'd lay good money it was courtesy of Seth Johnson. Some kind of a warning?"

"Probably. Think we better get out of town now?"

"Hell, I thought we should have left this morning. I don't know how we can, though, till you feel better."

"And then there's the money – "

They walked back across the street together to 'Muldoon's'. Millie and Arthur met them at the door. "Bret! You're hurt!"

"Not in comparison," and he indicated Bart.

Arthur asked the same question Bart asked. "Who was it?"

"Don't know," came Bret's reply. "Know who I suspect, but I can't prove it."

Everybody went back inside. Once they were seated and coffee was being served, Bart made his announcement. "I think we better get out of town as soon as possible. Arthur, I hate to bring it up, but there's the matter of quite a bit of money."

"The final tally and accounting should be done tomorrow, Bart. You'll have payment as soon as that's finished. You sure we can't talk you into staying a while longer?'

Bart shook his head slowly. "I think we better go as soon as we can. Before anything else happens." Bart and Bret exchanged looks. "I think you better wire Cousin Beau and tell him to meet us in Denver."

"I'll do that," Bret agreed. "First thing in the morning. I think we better call it a night, don't you, Brother Bart?"

"I do. Thanks, everyone, for the kind words and good food. And good luck with the statehood drive." Bart shook hands with all the men and kissed both of the ladies. Bret then said his goodbyes and they walked outside. Bart pulled a cigar out if his coat pocket and Bret did the same, striking a match and lighting them both so they smoked while they walked.

"Think he'll send George Henry after us?" Bret's voice broke the still night air.

"I don't know," answered his brother. "I'm wondering how long it will take him to get out of town."

"Depends on what Gerald has to say when the sheriff brings him back to Cheyenne. If he tells what he knows Seth may not have enough time to get out of town."

"I guess we'll find out soon, won't we Brother Bret?"

"That we will, Brother Bart, that we will." Silence for a few minutes as they walked. "No inclination to stay here?"

Bart once again shook his head slowly. "Nope. None."

"What about Millie?"

"What about her?" Bart was perplexed at the question.

"Don't wanna stay for her?" Bret worded his question carefully, trying not to lead his brother one way or the other.

"For Millie? No, no way. She's a beautiful girl and all, but it's not like I'm lookin' to get hitched. Millie needs somebody to settle down with. That's not me. You know that, Bret."

"So you're all for headin' down to Mexico?"

"Yep. It might be slow goin' for a while, but it'll be goin'."

Bret slapped his brother on the back. "That's my boy!"


	29. Last Train to Nowhere

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 29 – Last Train to Nowhere

Daylight poured into the room despite the heavy drapes drawn across the window. For more than a minute he had no idea where he was. ' _Don't panic,'_ he thought, ' _it'll come to you. Denver? San Francisco? Silver Creek? New Orleans?'_

Very slowly sounds made their way into his consciousness; someone walking through the hallway, street traffic from outside, his brother snoring again. His brain decided to work and the answer was there – Cheyenne. Everything came flooding back to him on a tidal wave of memories – Dandy's telegram, his arrival, the poker game, the painful and unnecessary beating, the long walk from the Miller place, George Henry, finally besting the man who'd caused so much pain to everyone. Bret's assault last night. That was foremost in his mind as he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand up. Ouch. His ribs should have stopped hurting so much by now – of course, pulling his brother up off the ground hadn't helped; it only served to aggravate an already inflamed condition. Well, that was over and he promised himself to be more careful in the future. Maybe they could spend a few extra days in Denver to allow for some kind of healing process to actually gain a foothold before riding off to wherever it was Bret had them going.

That was the next fact temporarily missing from his memory. Where were they going? Ah yes, Mexico. Right across the border from Laredo, as a matter of fact. So close that the town was named Nuevo Laredo – New Laredo. Well, better get started on packing. Just as he was about to turn and head for the closet he saw it – a note of some kind had been slipped under their door. Now what?

It was brief and chilling. _'Last night was just to show you how easily I can get to your brother. I always keep my word.'_

It was obvious who it was from. Bret was right, the sooner they got out of town, the safer they'd be. Bart wandered over to the settee. "Hey, Brother Bret. Quit your snoring and get up. Time's a wastin'."

"Huh? What? Oh, Bart. What's wrong?" Bret rubbed his eyes and stretched, then sat up.

"A little missive from our friend." He handed the note to Bret, then went to the closet to get his suitcase. Bret folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "Uh, Bart, there's somethin' I forgot last night."

"What's that, Brother Bret?"

"Uh, I sent a telegram to Doc, asking him to come join us on the trip."

Bart stopped what he was doing and turned back to his brother in frustration. "Did you get an answer?"

"No. Is that significant?"

"Yeah. It probably means he's still busy with his female trouble. Doc's usually real good about answering me."

"I sent it to him, not you."

"Still – " He put his suitcase back in the closet. "I guess we better try to find out if he's on his way. One thing I don't want in this life is Doc Holliday mad at me."

"Yeah. Sorry. Say, how about breakfast instead?"

"Instead of leaving town?"

"Well, yeah. Then we can go send another telegram." Bret had a contrite smile on his face.

"No, you can go send another telegram."

"That's what I meant."

Bart laughed, in spite of himself. "Sure it is. Okay. Breakfast it is. How soon can you be ready?"

Bret was already pulling his boots on. "Pretty quick. You hungry?"

"No, but I need – "

"Coffee?"

"How'd you guess?"

XXXXXXXX

When breakfast was done they walked down to the telegraph office and Bret sent another wire to Doc, asking if he was coming to Cheyenne or not, as they were about ready to leave for Denver. Then the two brothers went to Jasper Finley's office to see if he'd heard anything about the poker game final accounting. The news he gave them wasn't good.

"Seth Johnson got an injunction this morning, to prevent the funds from being disbursed. He's suing the consortium, says that the substituting Arthur did, with Bret taking your place, was illegal according to the original agreement. I'm afraid it's going to go to court. Looks like he's trying to keep the two of you in town while he maneuvers."

"Yeah, till he can decide which one of us he's gonna kill," Bart volunteered, not happy that the legal system could be manipulated to suit nefarious purposes.

"Something happen that I don't know about?" Jasper asked.

Bret pulled the note from his pocket. "Bart found this under our door this morning." He handed it to Jasper and then sat back, waiting for the older man's reaction.

"Yes, I'm sure that's from Seth. He likes to intimidate people before taking action. What are you going to do?"

"Sit tight for right now and see what his next move is. Neither one of us is going anywhere alone. How long do you think this whole court thing will take?" Bret wasn't happy about the latest development, but there was too much money at stake to simply pick up and go.

Jasper shook his head, knowing it wasn't going to please either Maverick. "No idea. Could be over in a couple days, could take weeks."

"Weeks?" Now it was Bart's turn to express displeasure.

"Unfortunately, yes."

The brothers looked at each other. "Weeks?" Bret asked.

"Weeks," Bart answered.

"Well, Brother Bart, I think we better go see about tradin' that fancy room in for somethin' with a bigger bed. I'm not sleepin' on the settee for weeks."

"You have a point." Bart stood up and shook hands with the businessman. "Thanks for the information, Jasper. We'll be in touch."

"Jasper," Bret said as he tipped his hat.

They walked outside, both paying close attention to the people around them and the sounds in the air. "Let's go see about that hotel room switch."

XXXXXXXX

Two hours and a small amount of moving and they were the proud occupants of a single room with a larger bed, now in room 306. An extra flight of stairs for Bart to navigate, but a better sleeping arrangement for his brother. When done it was past time for lunch, and Bart was actually willing to join his brother for that meal. They had just appeared in the dining room when they were spotted by Arthur and Millie, who had already ordered their food. Arthur called them over and they joined the Ridgeways.

"I was informed of the lawsuit by Johnson. I'm going to see what I can do about getting an advance on your funds so the two of you can leave like you were going to. Before something else happens."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Arthur. It's already happened." Bret handed Arthur the note. He read it and handed it to Millie. She read it, shook her head and handed it back to Bret.

"You have a plan?"

"Sit tight and wait. And try to make money while we're doing it."

Bart chuckled. Bret, always the practical one. "And try to stay alive."

"Why don't the two of you come out and stay at the ranch?" Millie suggested. "It may not look big, but we've got the room."

"Say, that's a good idea," Arthur added. "Gotta be better protected than a hotel room. You can't have that much to move."

Bart groaned. "We just switched rooms. Besides, I don't think you'd appreciate the hours we keep."

"Then come out to the ranch tonight for supper. Around seven o'clock? Maybe after that we can convince you to stay." Millie was persistent, he'd give her that.

"Alright with me. Bret?"

Bret's eyes lit up. "You said the magic word. Supper. A home cooked meal would be great. We'll be there."

On the way back up to their new room Bart raised an issue that was bothering him. "Bret, is there somethin' about Millie that I've forgotten?"

Uh oh. Was Bart starting to remember that he had intended to marry the girl? "Why?"

"Not sure. There just seems to be somethin' in my head that I can't put my finger on. What am I missin'?"

Bret shook his head. "Can't think of anything. Sure you're not imagining it?"

"I don't know. There's so much movin' back and forth up there I'm surprised I can sleep, for all the noise. You sure I didn't talk to you before – well, you know."

"Not that I know of. Maybe you're just worried about her."

A sigh escaped the gambler. "Couldn't have been too important, I guess, or I'd remember."

"Probably."

Bret had just lied to his brother, and he didn't feel good about it. Should he tell him the truth? What kind of trouble would it cause? No, better to leave it alone. If Bart didn't remember on his own, Bret wasn't going to prompt him. They were going to the Ridgeway's for dinner – if that didn't jolt his memory, nothing would.


	30. Card Sharps and Derringers

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 30 – Card Sharps and Derringers

Arthur drove the buggy into town to pick up the Mavericks. He wanted to hear what Bart remembered about his daughter, if anything, and that was his best chance with Millie not around. Bret climbed in the second seat; he might not have if he'd known what Arthur was planning.

They talked about the lawsuit; about halfway to the ranch Arthur changed topics and brought up his daughter. He danced around the subject before finally getting as close as he dared. "Remember when you asked me how long ago Millie and Morgan broke their engagement?"

"I did?" Bart inquired innocently.

"Yes, sir. You seemed quite pleased that it was almost a year ago. I thought you might be interested in her. You don't remember that?"

"Nope," Bart answered. "Is she seeing anybody?"

Bret knew that Arthur was walking on dangerous ground. "I would bet she's got a whole string of men lined up to court her. She's a beautiful girl."

"No," Arthur volunteered. "She's a one man woman. When she's involved with someone that's the only man in the world for her."

"She'll find someone. Cheyenne's got a lot of new people coming in to settle here." That seemed to end the discussion as far as Bart was concerned and he went back to examining Seth Johnson's legal maneuvering. Arthur gave up; his brother was right, Bart seemed to remember none of his love for Arthur's daughter.

The rest of the ride and the meal and visit that followed were pleasant enough, but tinged with sadness. The conversations drifted from one subject to another, Millie seemed wistful and confused. Bart's memories and knowledge were vague in places. Arthur realized what Millie had lost, even if she didn't. Bart Maverick might not be everyone's choice as a husband, but Arthur had seen him at his best, and that was more than good enough for him. Bart loved Millie Ridgeway sufficiently to have her as his bride, and now that love was gone, forgotten in the poisonous haze that invaded his body and mind. Millie lost a husband-to-be, a man that loved her and was willing to change his whole life for her.

Bret Maverick might look like a villain, but he hadn't intended to be. His brother really was a gambler, whether he purported to be or not; he'd gambled once on a marriage that ended in tragedy and it had almost killed him. Bret couldn't stand by and watch that happen again. Bart wasn't ready to settle down; he'd said as much himself many times. Better it ended before it had really begun; before Bart and Millie both were hurt beyond repair.

The buggy ride back to the hotel was quiet; all three men lost in thought. Bret and Bart had decided to remain in Cheyenne for a few days, to give the courts time to sort out the lawsuit Seth filed. Arthur was going to do everything in his power to see that Maverick was given his fair share of the winnings, as promised. Unbeknownst to them, Millie would spend some time trying to sort out her own thoughts, not quite understanding what happened to the feelings she had begun to share with the gambler.

After Arthur left the brothers off at the hotel, they went to their new room. Bret was all for going to play poker; Bart wanted nothing more exciting than a nice, comfortable bed. They compromised – bed tonight, poker tomorrow. Bart appreciated his brother's willingness to wait; Bret the fact that Bart still had broken ribs and was trying to heal. Sometime during the night room 219 was broken into. Since there was no one staying in the suite, nothing was done to the room. Bret and Bart were told about the break-in by the desk clerk, and they immediately left to see if the sheriff had returned from Laramie with Gerald, the ex-bartender.

Bart had met Sheriff Blackstock one time, Bret not at all. The sheriff was behind his desk examining some new 'Wanted' posters and he looked up when the door opened. Bart took the lead since he was the one Gerald tried to kill.

"Sheriff Blackstock, I'm Bart Maverick. This is my brother Bret." Before he could get any further he was interrupted by the sheriff.

"I know who you are. And the answer's yes, I brought Gerald Henderson back from Laramie. He's under arrest, charged with attempted murder. Anything else you need to know?" The sheriff was abrupt as if he didn't want to be bothered by the man in front of him.

"Has he told you who hired him?" Bart saw no need to be polite to the lawman, he wasn't going to get any more answers from Blackstock than the sheriff absolutely had to give him.

"Nope."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Nope."

It was then that Bret did something very un-Bret-like. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Blackstock. "Sheriff, my brother asked you quite politely if he could speak to the prisoner. He's not gonna hurt him and he's not gonna break him out of jail. I think it would be most accommodating of you to give him five minutes with Mr. Henderson. Why don't you and I just sit here and discuss the upcoming elections while my brother talks to the man? Then we can leave you alone and you can spend the rest of your day contemplating what you're going to do when this town elects a new sheriff. Hmmm?"

Bart didn't wait for the sheriff's answer. He walked back to the cells; Gerald, looking sad and embarrassed, sat on his cot and stared at the floor. He looked up briefly, saw Bart standing there, and looked back down at the floor.

"Gerald, you left town awful sudden."

Nothing but silence from the man on the cot. Bart was willing to try again. "Did I say or do something to offend you?"

The ex-bartender looked up again. "No."

"Then why?"

Gerald shrugged. "He said it'd only make you not able to play the next night."

"He? You mean Seth Johnson?"

"Can't say."

Bart thought about that for a minute. "Because he'll kill you?"

"Yep."

"Okay, Gerald. I understand."

Just as Bart turned to walk away, Henderson's voice drifted up from the cot. "Sorry, Mr. Maverick."

"Yeah. So am I, Gerald, so am I."

XXXXXXXX

The day passed quicker than Bart expected it to. It was the first real chance he had to just lie around and do nothing since he'd first arrived in Cheyenne, and he took full advantage of it. Suppertime came before he was ready for it, but he'd agreed to a night of poker with Bret and food definitely preceded that. When he realized that Bret was dressed and ready he grabbed the shoulder holster for the first time in days.

"Must be feeling better," Bret remarked as Bart slipped the derringer inside the leather. "You haven't worn that since I've been here."

"Yeah, a little. As long as Seth Johnson is still running around a free man I'll feel more secure having it on. Whether it's uncomfortable or not. You got yours?"

"Oh yeah. Gonna put it away once we leave Cheyenne, though. Too much like all the crooked card sharps out there. You know how I feel about that."

"Yep. Same way I did until it saved our lives." He was talking about his encounter with Jerome Lewis on the Bayou Belle. "But I don't go too many places without it anymore. Too many Seth Johnson's in the world."

"Alright, let's quit yammerin' and go eat. I'm hungry."

Bart laughed, then responded. "You're always hungry."

"True."

They were almost done with their meal when Doc Morris came into the dining room, apparently looking for them. He sat down at their table, waiting for the inevitable question. "What's up, Doc?" Bret asked curiously.

Doc shook his head; his face wore a sorrowful look. "Gonna slip through everybody's fingers again." He replied, before continuing. "Gerald Henderson's dead. I just came from the jail."

"Dead? How?" The questions were from Bart, but he could already guess the answers.

"Shot by Blackstock trying to escape."

Bret snorted. "Sure he was. Any witnesses to that?"

"What do you think?"

"Of course not. Well, there goes the case against Johnson."

"Yes, I'm afraid so. You know what this means, don't you?"

Bart didn't take long to answer. "We're next?"

"Sure looks that way to me. What are you boys gonna do?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing? Isn't that a little reckless?"

"Nope, Doc. We'll pay attention and force Seth to make the next move. Anything else is reckless." Bret looked over at Bart, who was just finishing his meal. Bart nodded in agreement to Bret's statement.

"And now?"

"Poker," Bart responded. "Got to make a living somehow."

"Well, be careful, both of you. I don't want to play coroner again anytime soon."

"Will do, Doc." Both Mavericks shook hands with Doc Morris and he left them to finish their coffee. Bret folded his napkin across his empty plate. "'Lucky Lady' or 'Genevieve's'?"

"Let's try 'Genevieve's.' Maybe we'll run into Jasper. I never got inside the place, anyway. Raymond met me at the door and took me to see Mr. Johnson."

"Well, Brother Bart, are we ready to go win some money?"

Bart shifted his shoulders, readjusting the shoulder holster under his coat. "Yes sir, Brother Bret, time to go to work." Both got up from the table and headed out the door and down the street, with no idea what awaited them at 'Genevieve's'.


	31. A Doctor in the House

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 31 – A Doctor in the House

'Genevieve's' was loud, rowdy and just what the doctor ordered. It reminded Bart of 'Mitzi's' in Carson City. The place was packed – who knew there were this many drunk and rowdy cowhands in Cheyenne?

Bart and Bret each found a poker game, at separate ends of the gambling hall, as was their habit these days. The story of the 'poker game from hell', as it was being called, had spread rapidly and everyone seemed to know who they were. And all seemed eager to play poker against one or the other of them, no doubt imagining they would be the one to beat the 'unbeatable' card sharps from Texas. Both of them were at the top of their game and, after several hours, it appeared no one could beat them this night, either. They played all night; as soon as one busted cowpoke removed himself from the game another eagerly took his place.

Jasper came by Bart's table, with Rosie in tow, and she promptly gave Bart a kiss on the cheek for luck. After which Jasper told her he needed the luck more, so she leaned over and kissed him; it wasn't on the cheek. Everyone in the vicinity laughed; Jasper Finley was a well-known and well-liked customer of "Gen's', as most of the regulars called it.

Eventually Bret came over to Bart's side of the room; he'd finally beaten everyone who was willing to sit at the table with him and his opponents disappeared one after another. By that time it was almost sunrise and Bart was more than ready to call it a night. The brothers agreed they'd come back before they left Cheyenne; 'Gen's' had proven popular and profitable for both. Spirits were high as they finally left the saloon, in need of coffee and a smoke. Bart exited through the batwing doors first, while reaching in his pocket for a cigar. Bret was close on his heels and already had a match in his hands. Neither was expecting the gunfire that greeted them; both hit the ground quickly. Bart was lucky, he had a watering trough right in front of him that offered some protection. Bret had nothing but several horses tied to the hitching rails, and whoever was shooting had no compunction about firing at the animals.

"Where's it coming from?" Bret yelled to his brother.

"Can't tell," Bart answered. Bart had the black handled Colt out of its holster and began shooting in the general direction of the gunshots. "I'm makin' a run for it," he shouted to his brother, "get over here now." Bart took off for the other side of the street as Bret abandoned the pitiful shelter the animals provided and rolled behind the watering trough. Just as he ducked his head below the water a bullet ricocheted and creased his hairline. It stung more than anything else. But it put a hole in his hat and made him mad. This was beginning to get aggravating. Seth Johnson was behind it; Bret was as sure of that as he was that his name was Maverick.

"Bart? You ok?" Uh-oh. No answer from his brother. He yelled louder, "Bart! Answer me!"

"Yeah, I'm alright. I know where they are. I'm goin' up."

"No, stay here. Don't go gettin' shot! Bart, you hear me? Bart!"

As usual, Bart disregarded Bret's warnings. Whoever was doing the shooting was trying to make a point rather than hit a target; Bret took his chances and ran for the other side of the street and the hotel doors. As soon as he made it inside he bounded up the stairs to the roof, where he found his brother alone. "Don't you ever listen?" he questioned.

"To what? You babblin' somethin' about not gettin' shot? I heard it, I just ignored it. Whoever was here is gone, anyway."

"George Henry?" Bret offered.

"That's who I'd bet on. Shall we go pay Mr. Johnson a visit?"

"This early? I doubt if he's outta bed yet. How about breakfast first, then Mr. Johnson?'

"Sure, why not? That way I won't have to listen to you whine about bein' hungry."

XXXXXXXX

It had still been a good night, even if it did end in a hail of gunfire. "Was there a point to all that shootin'? Besides scarin' us to death?" The question was Bret's, as he ate the last piece of bacon on his plate.

"Just an illustration of how easy it would be to kill either one or the other of us." Bart was long since done with his food and was on this third cup of coffee. "But you're right, it's gettin' old."

"No, it got old a couple days ago. It's time we had a heart to heart talk with somebody that can do somethin' about this. I knew I shoulda killed him when I had the chance."

"Now Brother Bret, what fun would that be? You wouldn't let me kill Edgar Pike, why should I let you kill Seth Johnson?"

"Come on, troublemaker, let's go pay the man a visit."

A few minutes later they were on their way to the place Bart was taken when Raymond was still around. This time there were no thugs, and the office was almost bare of furniture and furnishings. "Does look like he's leaving, doesn't it? I wonder where all the muscle went?"

There was no one in the office but they could hear footsteps coming from somewhere. A door at the back of the room opened and Seth Johnson, accompanied by George Henry, entered. "Well, Mr. Henry. We have guests. Mr. Maverick and Mr. Maverick. Won't you have a seat, gentlemen? Oops, sorry, no chairs. Very soon there will be nothing left to indicate that I was ever here. Or that you were here, either. What can I do for you two?"

Bart wasted no time. "Stop playing games with us, Johnson. You lost. Very obviously you're leaving town. Let it go."

"Why, Mr. Maverick. Whatever are you talking about?"

'You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your problem is with me, not my brother. I'm the one you threatened. Leave Bret out of it."

"He seems to have me confused with someone else, doesn't he, Mr. Henry? Be that as it may, Mr. Maverick, you were not threatened. Promised, but not threatened. Whatever you think I'm involved in, I assure, you, I'm not. Now, I have business to take care of. Good day, gentlemen. Mr. Henry, show the Maverick brothers out, please."

George Henry never said a word, just pulled his gun and waved the barrel first at the Mavericks and then at the door. "This is doing us no good," Bart observed. "Let's go." He was the first to head for the door. Once outside they exchanged looks and Bret shook his head.

"Strange man."

"You have any doubt he's behind everything?"

"Nope. None. I still think it's time to leave town. Money or no money, or we'll be too dead to enjoy it."

Bart nodded in agreement. "Well, it's too late for the stage today. How about tomorrow morning?"

"Yep. Let's go pack. Then we can take leave of everybody and get out of here alive."

XXXXXXXX

Arrangements were made to transfer the considerable funds owed Bart to Montana Savings and Loan, where he still maintained an account. The total of the funds won by Bart during the 'poker game from hell' was one hundred ninety-four thousand, one hundred seventy-nine dollars. The consortium owed him over forty-eight thousand dollars. That was more money than he'd ever seen in one place at one time. He thought about what it would mean for he and Bret.

They packed and began to say their goodbyes around town; to Doc Morris, who was sorry to see them go; to Jasper Finley, who knew they would be playing poker one more night at 'Gen's' and insisted he would say goodbye there; and to Deacon Cain, the churchman with a love for the game of poker. Then they took the buggy out to the Ridgeway Ranch, where Bret thanked Arthur for keeping the confidence of Bart's lost memories, and Bart said a final goodbye to Millie. She was glad he'd come to see her one last time; she still didn't understand why their beginning became an end, but she accepted the fact that he was leaving and she'd probably never see him again. She kissed him on the cheek and wished him well, then joined them all in the parlor for one last farewell. Arthur shook the hand of the man that had come so close to being his son-in-law, and made Bart promise to come back when Wyoming became a state.

Their leave-taking done for the most part, they returned to Cheyenne in relative silence. At last Bart asked the question that had been on his mind for days. "There's somethin' you haven't told me, isn't there?"

Bret was torn. After the ever present debate in his head quieted down, he was relieved to tell his brother the truth. "Yes, there is. Do you want to know what?"

"Is it something I forgot when the poisoning happened?"

"Yes."

"Can I live without knowing?" That was a pointed question.

"You have been, so far."

Bart had given this a good deal of thought. "Then I don't want to know."

Bret was rather surprised by that. Bart, who wanted to know everything about everything, declining knowledge about something in his own life. "Are you sure?"

"I am," he announced firmly. "There's a reason I forgot. Whatever it is, I can live without it."

"Ok." Bret was relieved. He didn't like secrets, and he'd felt burdened about keeping this one.

They got back to town and Bret dropped Bart off at 'Genevieve's', then took the buggy back to the livery. It was a short walk up to the saloon and he smoked a cigar as he walked. The night was clear and beautiful, with a lover's moon in the sky. He walked slowly and thought about Marybeth Canton. Memories of Marybeth hadn't crossed his mind for a while, but she was there tonight and he missed her. He sighed and threw away the rest of his cigar as he walked inside.

Bart was already at a table and in the middle of a hand. Bret didn't see the man sitting at a table in the corner all alone, with a glass and a half-empty whiskey bottle in front of him. Dressed mostly in black, his hat pulled down low over his eyes, he looked like the kind of man you didn't bother.

Bret looked around the saloon. All the poker tables were full, so he stood at the bar and ordered a coffee. He watched his brother shuffle and deal the cards, once again marveling at how quickly Bart had picked up and understood the game. If there was ever such a thing as a 'natural' at poker, Bart Maverick was just that. They were playing five card stud at the moment, not Bart's favorite game, yet his play was as smooth as silk. He had a pair of eights showing; his next card was an ace and on the last card face up he caught the third eight. Now it got interesting, as one other player at the table had three tens and a Jack showing. Bret turned to the bartender for a refill on the coffee and failed to see the man that walked through the batwing doors. Just an average man; with a balding head and manicured hands, clean-shaven, expensive looking clothes and a sleeve holster that no one could see that carried a loaded derringer. He blended in with a small group of men that had begun watching Bart's game, and by the time Bret turned back around he'd vanished into them.

The betting got quite lively; finally Bart called the other man, who had nothing beyond the three tens. The gambler turned over his hole card. It was the fourth eight. Bart stood to rake in the pot and that's when the average man made his move; he released the spring in his sleeve holster and dropped the derringer into his hand. He stepped out from between two men and aimed the gun right at Bart.

Just as he started to pull the trigger the lone figure in the corner pushed his hat up, pulled his gun and fired, then stood and fired again. Saloon girls screamed and ran; Bret broke for his brother and the average man, with a bullet right between his eyes, dropped to the floor dead. Bart turned his head as Bret got to his side and they both looked at the gunman, now standing up, all alone. They recognized the figure at the same time.

"Doc!" Bart yelled and Doc Holliday holstered his gun and smiled at them.

"You're welcome," he answered.


	32. Henry, Johnson and Blackstock, et al

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 32 – Henry, Johnson and Blackstock, et al.

Chaos reigned for a good hour or more. The crowd in 'Genevieve's' had grown immediately frenzied as soon as they realized that 'Doc' was indeed the real Doc Holliday. Bart rose from his chair and embraced Doc, who'd strolled over to the table. When Bart turned loose of the man who'd just saved his life Bret shook hands with Doc. "I guess you got my telegram, huh?"

"You mean the one about the gold in Mexico?" Doc asked. "No, I didn't get that one."

"And you – huh?" Bret and Doc's humor didn't always agree with each other. Doc was just a little too droll for Bret.

"Doc, your timing is impeccable. How'd you know we were gonna be here?" Bart asked.

"How did I know? The whole town knew. Did you take an ad out in the paper?"

"We were leaving in the morning. That," and Bart pointed at the body on the floor, "was determined to kill one of us."

"No, really? What'd you do this time?"

"It's a long story, Doc. Have a seat; I'm sure the sheriff will be along eventually. The man you just killed was his financier."

"Terrific. Don't you ever have anyone unimportant mad at you?"

"Not usually," Bret explained. "This was over that poker game Buckley got Bart into."

"Didn't I tell you Buckley was nothing more than a con-man with an accent?"

"Doc."

"Yes Bart?"

"I made over fifty thousand dollars in the game."

Doc whistled and his eyes lit up. "You have the funds in hand?"

"Well, no. But now that Johnson's dead, I will soon."

"Uh-huh. 'Soon' is not a word to be trifled with. I far prefer 'now'."

Bart laughed. That was Doc. Slowly it began to dawn on Bart – Seth Johnson was dead. Which meant George Henry was unemployed. All the nonsense would stop. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Doc turned and gave an order to anybody who'd listen. "Somebody bring my bottle and my glass."

One of the saloon girls scurried over and retrieved Doc's possessions. He smiled at her charmingly when she sat them in front of him. "And what's your name, my little rose petal?"

She smiled back at him. "Flora."

Before Doc's flirtation could get any further Sheriff Blackstock came charging through the doors. He took one look at the body on the floor and then turned his attention to the Mavericks. "Alright, which one of you do I arrest for this?"

"Neither of them, sheriff," Doc interrupted. "I am the reprobate you seek."

"And you would be - ?"

"Doctor John Henry Holliday, at your service, sir."

The sheriff blinked twice and dropped into an empty chair. "Doc Holliday?"

"That's how I'm known, yes." A smile of amusement played about Doc's mouth. He always enjoyed his encounters with local law enforcement. They were so easily – befuddled.

Bret stepped up next, verbally at least. "Johnson pulled out a derringer to shoot Bart. Doc killed him first."

"Anybody else see it that way?" Blackstock was forced to ask.

"I did."

"I did."

"Me too."

"We all did, sheriff."

Blackstock looked at the crowd that had gathered. "That true? Everybody see it that way?"

There was a lot of head nodding and agreeing that Doc killed Johnson in defense of Bart Maverick. The sheriff threw up his hands in defeat, knowing he was soon to be out of a job AND money. "Alright, somebody carry the body over to Doc Morris' office. Doctor Holliday, can you come with me to sign a written statement?"

Doc looked suspicious. "Can I bring my medicine?" He picked up the whiskey bottle and cradled it lovingly.

"Yes." The sheriff got up to leave and Doc started to follow him.

"Doc, where are your belongings?" Bart called after him.

Doc held the whiskey bottle up in the air. "Right here."

"We'll be there shortly."

The brothers Maverick sat at the table for another minute, then the crowd started to disperse. "Bart, where are the poker funds being kept?"

Bart thought for a moment. "In Jasper's safe, why?"

"Wasn't he supposed to be here tonight?"

"You're right, he was. Better go check his office."

"Brother Bart, I've got a bad feeling."

XXXXXXXX

Bret's feelings were well-founded. The door to Jasper's office was unlocked and slightly ajar – guns were drawn before either of the Mavericks went inside. They found Jasper Finley bound and gagged on the floor in the rear office of the suite; the door to the safe stood wide open and there was nothing inside. Bart got Jasper freed from his restraints while Bret looked around the room for any clues.

"Jasper, you okay?"

"Mad as a hornet, Bart. It was George Henry. He showed up about ten last night and did this after he got me to open the safe. It's all gone – every bit of it. The poker money. The cash fund we had for the statehood campaign. The Stock Growers cash. Over three hundred thousand dollars. The only person besides Arthur and myself that knew how much was in there was Seth. They had this planned all along, didn't they? That's why Seth got rid of Raymond and hired George Henry. I swear, I won't rest until Seth pays for this."

Bret came over and helped Jasper to his feet. "No use to get upset, Jasper. It won't do any good."

"Yes it will, Bret. He's gonna do time for this one. They left me alive. That was their mistake."

"Jasper, Seth Johnson will never be prosecuted for this."

Jasper stood with his hands on his hips. He was an imposing figure. "Why not?"

Bart looked at his unhappy friend as he answered. "Because he's dead."

XXXXXXXX

Bret, Bart and Jasper trudged back to the sheriff's office. Blackstock was just finishing with Doc's statement when they sat down to explain the rest of the plan – the robbery at Jasper's office. The sheriff sighed. More paperwork. Doc Morris soon joined them, looking rumpled and out-of-sorts.

"Well, he's dead alright," Doc Morris pronounced.

"Even I could have told you that," Doc Holliday volunteered. Introductions were made all around and Bart turned to his second-oldest friend.

"Sad to say, Doc, you were right. The money's gone. All of it."

"Told you I didn't like the word 'soon'. Who is this miscreant that robbed the safe?"

Bart filled Doc in on George Henry and his supposed background. When he'd finished Doc had only one thing to say. "So I take it the trip to Mexico is still on?"

TBC


	33. Next Stop, Denver

Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 33 – Next Stop, Denver

"Well, it was nice to be rich for a while." Bart ruffled the deck of cards in his hands as the stagecoach bumped along the dusty road. Bret nodded his head in agreement and reached to cut the cards, which Bart didn't allow him to do. "Hands off, it's my deal."

Doc Holliday looked at the two of them from the other side of the coach. "And you wonder why I won't play with you. Everybody knows you both cheat."

"Not fair, Doc," Bart protested.

"Yeah, only when we play each other," Bret added.

"So if I played you wouldn't? Cheat, that is."

Bret shook his head. "Nope."

Bart added his voice. "No way, Doc."

Bart and Bret looked at each other. "Course he is almost like family," offered Bret.

"I was just thinking the same thing," added Bart.

Doc snatched the cards out of Bart's hands. "Alright, I'll play. But I deal."

And the coach bounced on down the dirty road, towards Denver, as Doc Holliday started shuffling the deck.

The End


End file.
